


Irresistible

by TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Panic Attacks, Pining, Secrets, alpha!pete, omega!patrick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22152550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan/pseuds/TheSpiderThatKnowsThePlan
Summary: Patrick is an Omega, but he's been doing his damnedest to hide it his whole life. He wants to keep hiding it from his bandmates, especially Pete, who is an Alpha, and whom Patrick would like to impress with who he is, rather than just their complementary orientations.When they're all crammed in a van together all summer, though, that could prove... Tricky.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 141
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I love A/B/O, and I'm finally throwing my hat in this proverbial ring.  
> Hope you all like it.

As an Omega, Patrick Stump knows that agreeing to join two Alphas and a Beta on a tour for the whole summer could be a risky proposition. He takes top-of-the-line suppressants and has special soap on top of the pills, though, so he convinces himself that he’ll be fine, the way seventeen-year-olds often do.

He told his bandmates he was a Beta. At first, it was because he didn’t want anyone humping his leg all the time. Even though he knows now that his bandmates are pretty cool about consent and not into the whole Concordance bullshit, he still keeps up the lie. Though he tells himself he isn’t sure why, he knows damned well.

Because he’s afraid of the stares, the overprotectiveness, the unnecessary scenting, the prejudice at venues if it ever slips that Patrick is an unclaimed Omega… and _Pete Wentz_ , the ringleader of this whole affair, and upon whom Patrick might just be crushing the slightest bit, against his better judgment.

Pete with his stupid flat-ironed hair, and his stupid mouth, and his stupidly gorgeous caramel skin, and his stupid tattoos. Pete, with his stupid flat stomach, and his stupid tight clothes that show off every curve and sinew of his stupid, fit body. Pete, with his stupid, gorgeous calico eyes and stupid, dazzling smile and the stupid, _stupid_ way he looks at Patrick like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars.

So, maybe Patrick’s not so much crushing as he is hopelessly, stupidly in love with stupid Pete Wentz.

The Alpha is already way too clingy, and it’s incredibly distracting for Patrick. He just smells so damned _good_ , like the tall grass of a meadow and the heady, thick air on a humid summer afternoon. There’s the primal part of him that desperately wants Pete to claim him, to mate with him, and to impregnate him with _all the pups_ , and he knows Pete is a good guy who would take care of him and not abuse him, or anything. Patrick is a stubborn boy, though, and he wants Pete to like him for _who_ he is, not _what_ he is, the way he clearly likes ( _LOVES_ ) Pete for many things besides his very appealing scent.

Andy Hurley (the other Alpha, much more even keeled than Pete) mostly complains that Pete smells like stinky feet or B.O.

It’s usually up to their actual Beta, Joe Trohman, to defuse the bickering between the other three. He’s almost always stoned, so he doesn’t seem to get too ruffled by any of the barbs they throw back and forth, or the way Patrick is constantly smacking Pete away from his neck, or the way Andy threatens to separate the two of them if they can’t “sit down and act right”.

All of this is about to be shrunk down from Patrick’s basement or Joe’s garage to a shitty used van Joe scored from a florist shop. The engine won’t run unless the heat is on full blast, which means they will have to have the windows open all the time. At first, this makes Patrick very worried that sweating and too much proximity to Pete will mean that he’ll be pheromone central for two months straight. When he looks inside the rust heap for the first time, though, and catches the lingering odor of decaying flowers and the sweat of the random stranger who used to drive it, however, he wrinkles his nose instinctively, but breathes a sigh of relief once he’s back on the pavement outside.

 _What about my heats?_ a very unhelpful voice in his head decides to ask the day before they’re set to leave. The suppressants lessen the severity of the, ahem, symptoms, and he has heat pads buried in the bottom of his duffel, but still, one little leak and it’ll be all over.

 _Would it, though?_ that annoying voice presses. _Would it really be all over? What would the worst thing be about everyone finding out you’re an Omega?_

Patrick knows he’s a shit for lying to his band—his _friends_ —for the last year or so, but he’s afraid it’s too late for the truth at this point. He just can’t stop imagining Pete’s face crumpled with hurt and betrayal, that adoring look being permanently gone from his eyes.

So, Patrick resigns himself to two months of trying to hide his orientation from his best friends—and the man he loves.

 _After the tour,_ he tells himself. _I’ll tell him, tell them, after the tour._

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so I guess these chapters are gonna be kinda short for now. I was writing one big, long one, but it seemed to make more sense to break it up a little more.

After many very embarrassing hugs and kisses from Patrick’s mother to her son and his entire band, multiple entreaties to call at least every week, and numerous inquests into whether the four boys had enough food, water, and clean underwear, they climb into the van and take off.

Pete presents Patrick with a large coffee. “For you, my sweet, since I know you don’t normally get up before the crack of two,” he pronounces solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye.

“Even if I did get to sleep until the afternoon, I would still need coffee,” Patrick grumbles as he takes the cup, then looks at Pete’s earnest, hopeful expression. “What I mean, is, y’know, thanks.” He blushes and gives a small smile before taking a sip.

It is _perfect_. He hums appreciatively.

Pete smiles widely and puffs out his chest. “Milk and two sugars, just like you like it.”

Now, Patrick smiles at his best friend and bassist with mild bemusement. “Thank you, Pete,” he says with real feeling.

“Oh, would you two get a room?” Joe grouses, rolling his eyes.

“What, I can’t provide coffee for my best friend and golden ticket?” Pete asks with very false innocence in his voice.

Joe leans around the edge of his seat and eyes Pete critically. “When’s the last time you ever bought me a coffee, just how I like it?” When no immediate response is forthcoming, he smirks sourly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He turns to face front again.

Pete crawls up beside Joe, between the two front seats, and puts his hands on Joe’s thigh. “Awww, JoeTroh, I didn’t know you cared!” He gets fully up on his knees and makes to plant a smacking kiss on Joe’s pouty mouth. Joe isn’t having it, though, and he shoves Pete off of him, sending him crashing into Andy, who then swerves the van before righting it again and elbowing Pete soundly.

Andy growls, low and fierce in his chest and snaps, “Knock it off, Pete! The steering on this thing isn’t as smooth as one would think, gazing on its pristine exterior. Christ! We haven’t even been on the road an hour and you’ve already made me almost crash this rolling death trap!”

Pete rejoins Patrick on the bench seat and throws an arm around him, making him almost spill the coffee he was so proud of purchasing. Some of it does spill out onto Patrick’s hands and lap. “Hey, watch it,” he scolds softly. He tries to throw a side-eye, but Pete is grinning so unapologetically that Patrick ends up smiling and laughing. He shakes his head. “Pete, what am I gonna do with you?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” the Alpha croons in his ear, and Patrick covers his sudden arousal by scowling and curling himself toward the window.

“Seriously, Pete,” Patrick says, “it’s too bad you’re an Alpha, because I feel like you could really do with someone being in charge of you and sorting you out.”

An inscrutable look flashes in Pete’s eyes for a second, then is replaced with his usual playfulness. “Well, maybe I’d let you, Trickydoll.”

The younger boy rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, right. Like I’d ever be able to get you in hand.”

“Baby, you can put me in your hand any time you’d like.” Pete leans on Patrick’s shoulder and flutters his eyelashes.

“Will you stop?” Joe snaps without turning around. “You’re gonna scare away the poor kid before we even get to our first show.”

The van goes quiet after that, the four of them lost in thought. Pete puts his head in Patrick’s lap, staring up at him in complete adoration. Patrick cards his fingers through Pete’s coarse, dark hair, grins, and shakes his head again.

After a few minutes, Pete’s eyelids begin to droop. He turns on his side, the back of his head against Patrick’s belly, and his lips part slightly as his breathing evens out. Patrick continues stroking his hair.

_I love you. I love you so fucking much it feels like my chest is going to burst open from it. I wish I were brave enough to tell you… everything._

He feels eyes on him and looks up to see Joe looking at him with a knowing glint in his big, blue eyes. They dart back and forth between Patrick and Pete, and he gives the slightest hint of a smile. Patrick blushes and ducks his head, then looks back at Joe with a helpless expression and a shrug.

_What are you gonna do?_

Joe smiles wider and turns away again.

Patrick looks at the sleeping Alpha in his lap. _What am I gonna do?_


	3. Chapter 3

When they get to their first venue, the four of them are exhausted, but running on adrenaline and nerves. And possibly more caffeine than anyone should ever consume.

Three of them clean themselves with baby wipes as best they can, but Patrick takes his bag to the bathroom, locks the door, and then strips down. He runs hot water and pulls out one of a dozen or so washcloths he’s packed, lathers it up with his prescription soap, and scrubs himself from head to toe. He rinses and wrings out the cloth, uses it to collect the suds off of a section of his skin, and then starts the process over again.

 _Lather, rinse, repeat_ , he thinks sourly. He knows he’s making a mess on the tile floor, but he also knows he doesn’t really have much of an option.

 _No options? Really?_ a voice in his mind queries.

Patrick sticks his hair under the faucet. _Baby wipes don’t cover up Omega pheromones_.

_That’s not the point, and you know it._

_I can’t_ , he mentally pleads. Something he chooses to believe is soap stings his eyes. _I can’t tell. They’d never understand._

 _Is that really what you think?_ the voice asks smugly, knowingly, while Patrick hurriedly dries himself off.

 _Stop it. I **can’t**_ , he insists. He pulls on clean clothes, swallows his suppressant, and jams a trucker cap over his wet hair. He scowls at himself in the mirror. He’s short, round, flushed, and soft-looking, even in his anger. Jesus, he even _looks_ like a fucking weak, useless Omega. How anyone could buy him as a Beta was beyond him. Still, the guys take him at his word. He breathes deeply and watches his shoulders heave in the mirror.

“OK, let’s do this,” he mumbles to himself, then picks up his bag and goes to rejoin the others.

Patrick dumps his bag in the van, then helps unload.

Pete, of course, is the first to address his absence. “Where’d you go?” he asks, his face forlorn.

“I needed to clean up,” Patrick mumbles, blushing even more furiously as Pete rushes to his side and throws his arms around him, hanging from his side like a limpet.

Pete buries his head in Patrick’s neck and breathes in, then sighs. “You smell nice,” he mumbles.

“OK,” Patrick drawls, confused, and then suddenly terrified. _I’m not supposed to smell like **anything** , nice or otherwise!_

“Mhm,” the Alpha hums appreciatively. “Like clean skin and laundry detergent. I don’t know. It’s just… so _Patricky_.” After a pause, he adds, “No one else smells like you.”

Patrick desperately searches his head for some clever reply, something to deflect from any conversation about his scent. It’s too close to the truth, too much like a fingertip on an eyeball. Not painful, but raw and stinging and _please don’t touch_.

He’s sure Pete can hear his heart hammering in his chest and the way his breath catches, but then Andy cuts in. “Quit making out and help us,” he grumbles, then turns away, hoists his bass drum up in front of him, and heads inside.

Relief washes over the would-be Beta as he gently detangles himself from Pete’s monkey-like clinging. “Come on, let’s get moving,” he sighs, his tone resigned.

The four of them load everything into the club, and by the time they’re done, a fine sheen of sweat is standing out on Patrick’s face. He takes the edge of his flannel and wipes it off as he heads for the bar.

“Can I get a water?” he asks, and the bartender nods, filling pint glasses for some other patrons.

A large, very sweaty presence makes itself known behind Patrick, and there’s hot, alcohol-smelling breath in his ear. “If you want something more than water, I’ll buy it for ya, cutie.”

Patrick turns around to see a very tall, broad man with the beginnings of a beer belly and a beard that almost reaches it. He’s covered in generic, wannabe badass ink—barbed wire, skulls, flames, and so on—and his t-shirt advertises Harley Davidson.

 _Oh, you glorious stereotype,_ Patrick thinks as he cocks an eyebrow. “I’m all set, thanks.” He takes his water and makes to step past Mungo (as Patrick has just named him), who, unfortunately, is drunk and much stronger. He grabs Patrick’s wrist and pulls him back in front of him.

“You’re not scented,” Mungo slurs, swaying on his feet ever-so-slightly. “Maybe you need an Alpha to sort you out and make you into a respectful little Omega.”

Patrick’s eyes blaze up at the bigger man, and color flushes high in his cheeks. He clenches his jaw and speaks very clearly and decisively. “Get out of my way, you presumptuous asshole.”

Mungo blinks and even backs up a pace, brow furrowed in confusion, but then remembers he’s holding Patrick by the wrist. “Don’t talk back to me, bitch.”

“Get the fuck off of him!” comes the throaty cry from beside them, and suddenly Mungo is knocked onto his ass by a flying Superman punch to the chin. Pete stands over him, chest heaving and face twisted in fury.

“Sorry,” Mungo grunts, hands up in front of his chest. “Sorry, man. I didn’t know he was yours.”

Pete steps further into Mungo’s space, his fists balling up even more. “He’s not mine. He’s not even an Omega, dickbag. Leave him alone.”

“Whatever,” Mungo groans as he gets up and straightens his t-shirt. He flips Pete off before he staggers out into the warm summer evening, most likely in search of his next victim.

Patrick stares at Pete: his hair is mussed, his chest is heaving, and he is opening and closing his right fist, the one that has just dispatched a much larger Alpha for him. For _him_.

Pete is stunning, magnificent in a way only he can be in eyeliner and overly tight jeans from some children’s department. Something in Patrick’s chest seizes at the sight. More than ever, he wants to throw himself at the Alpha’s feet and beg to belong to him. _Please take me, claim me, and fill me up with your sperm and your babies,_ some very unhelpful recess of his mind echoes.

After a few seconds, Pete shakes out his hand and steps over to him. “You OK, ‘Trick?” he asks, breathless. Patrick is staring at the floor where Mungo was, rather than into Pete’s disarming eyes, and he thinks he nods slightly. The Alpha isn’t settling for that, though, and he tucks a finger under Patrick’s chin, directing his gaze to meet his own. “Patrick?” he asks gently.

“I’m fine,” Patrick says, a tremor in his voice, and swallows hard. “Thanks.”

Pete throws an arm around him and leads him toward the stage, his smile dazzling. “Come on. We’ve got a whole dozen people to impress.” They laugh, and Patrick feels the tension of the last ten minutes start to wane.


	4. Chapter 4

The show goes really well. The songs sound tight, and Pete and Joe are total dynamos, spinning back and forth across the stage to compensate for Patrick’s stillness. They even get a few people nodding their heads to the beat, tapping the table or the bar, and applauding.

Patrick’s usually a pessimist, but he can’t help feeling like this is a good start, even if it seems a bit inauspicious.

“That was awesome!” Pete hollers as he jumps onto Joe’s back. Joe carries Pete and lets him whoop and kick into his hip. “Giddyup! Faster!” Pete throws one arm up and swirls it like he’s holding a lasso. “Come, my noble steed, we must sally forth to our next conquest!” Joe laughs and begins galloping in a circle.

Andy watches for a moment, a look of bewildered amusement on his face, then admonishes, “Pete, come on, you’re gonna get us barred from the venue.”

“Never!” Pete hollers, and then he adds in a terrible British accent, “I’m invincible!”

“You’re a looney,” the drummer retorts, chuckling, then plucks Pete off of Joe’s back by his waist.

Pete starts thrashing against the hold, exclaiming, “The Black Knights always triumph! Have at you!”

As if Pete were nothing more than a rag doll, Andy wrestles him to the floor, pins one arm up behind his back, and kneels on him. When he’s satisfied that Pete can’t move, he says, “Alright, we’ll call it a draw.” He gets up and helps Pete to his feet, then brushes him off a bit. “Come on. Let’s get all this loaded up, yeah?”

Both Pete and Joe reply in unison, “Yes, Andy.”

Pete immediately joins Patrick, who has already packed up his guitar, and hip-checks him lightly. “You’re such a brown-noser.”

“Hey, I just wanna get this done and get some sleep. The sooner we all pitch in, the sooner that happens.” He puts the guitar on top of his amp, and begins pushing them both toward the van.

“There’s no way I’m sleeping tonight,” Pete murmurs, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Patrick nods toward the rest of their equipment. “Well, maybe you could put some of that energy into loading up for now?”

Pete rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says in a very mock-put-upon tone, then takes the amp from Patrick and carries it. “You and your Beta sensibility and logic.”

A sharp bolt of anxiety shoots through Patrick’s stomach at that, but he keeps walking to the van, breathing deeply once he’s outside. It’s still on the cool side at night, but there’s that faint smell that promises the oncoming heat in it. It immediately reminds Patrick of hot dogs at family cookouts, “camping” in a canvas tent in his back yard with Ben Fitzgerald from down the road when they were in elementary school, the whine of heat bugs in the afternoon… and _Pete_.

As if conjured by the mere thought of him, the Alpha appears at his side and bumps his shoulder against Patrick’s.

“You’ve stopped helping,” he observes, eyes roaming back and forth between Patrick’s face and the guitar case he’s still holding.

Patrick blushes and puts the case in the van. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I just kinda spaced for a minute there.”

“Come on,” Pete prods, linking their arms and pulling Patrick back inside. “Miles to go before we sleep.”

“Don’t remind me,” Patrick grouses as he picks up a snare drum. “Good thing it’s not my turn to drive.”

Pete grabs Patrick’s hand and tries to twirl him like they’re at a goddamned cotillion, causing Patrick to trip over his feet and nearly topple over completely. Pete catches him, though, and it somehow comes out looking like they’re in a proper dip.

Patrick’s breathing is heavy, and he can feel the color in his cheeks. He knows he’s sweating, too, as he stares up into Pete’s face, a bare inch or so from his own. His scent seems to be _everywhere_ , like a cloud of lemongrass and melting Creamsicles.

“You’re a lovely dancer,” he teases, low and quiet, his grin sly and his eyes playful. “We should do this again sometime.”

Patrick feels Pete’s breath on his chin and swallows hard. “We actually didn’t even really ‘do this’ just now,” he whispers, “other than you tripping me.” There’s something like awe in his voice as he looks into Pete’s glittering calico eyes. It’s on the tip of his tongue: the truth, the desire, the absolute _yearning_ to let Pete in, to let Pete care for him ( _take me,_ _fuck me, own me_ ) completely, to just encapsulate himself in everything about the Alpha ( _my Alpha_ ).

Patrick squeezes his eyes shut suddenly and tries to push those feelings into the back of his mind. He plants a foot and slowly stands up, forcing Pete to move with him. It is actually quite beautiful to watch—the two of them moving together, eyes locked, Pete’s hand sliding up Patrick’s back to support him as he rights himself.

There’s a pregnant pause ( _fuck that metaphor_ , Patrick thinks), during which they stay like that, just breathing each other’s air, before Patrick puts his hands on Pete’s chest and backs away. “Come on,” he says, trying to sound steady and calm when he’s anything but, “let’s finish this.”

Pete blinks a moment, and another of those looks flashes across his features, the ones that Patrick can’t quite identify (but that certainly look like hurt and disappointment), but he rearranges it quickly into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. With just a single, curt nod, he follows Patrick to pack up the rest of their gear.

******

Pete’s burst of adrenaline doesn’t get them far. At the first rest stop on the highway, he pulls in and parks so they can sleep for a while. Despite his certainty that he’d be buzzing with energy all night, he reclines, pulls a blanket over him, and is asleep almost instantly. Andy has the ingenuity to put an amp in the floorboard in front of his seat, effectively extending it so he doesn’t have to go completely fetal. Joe has the envy of everyone, since it’s his turn on the bench seat. He sleeps easily and comfortably, and with a smug smile on his face.

Patrick is in the way back, huddled among the equipment. The others protested that he could just take the floorboard in front of the bench seat, but Patrick insisted it would be fine, and it is, actually. He has his sleeping bag doubled under him, so he has enough cushion, and he has another blanket over him. The equipment rises up around him like a little fort ( _a nest_ ), and it feels kinda cozy.

(One thing the four of them were certain to bring was lots of bedding. Pete joked they’d need it if they got lucky.

“If the van’s a-rockin’, don’t come a-knockin’!” he said, elbowing Patrick in the ribs.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “The last thing I’d want to see is you rockin’ the van with some rando.”)

And this is true. Patrick really never wants to even think about Pete fucking some stranger in the van, or anywhere else. But especially not anywhere he’ll be _sleeping_ , possibly still able to smell Pete’s sex smell, pheromones and sweat even more pungent than usual.

He’s still awake despite his total exhaustion, an arm flung over his eyes. He could curse Pete all the way to Hell and back for his sudden thievery of his sleepiness. Perhaps due to the combination of this annoyance and the apparent inability to stop thinking about Pete and sex, he’s pretty sure he can actually smell the Alpha, sweet and heady and all around him.

“Patrick,” Pete whispers right into his ear, gently shaking his shoulder. “Wake up, Lunchbox.”

Removing his arm from his face, Patrick groans, irritated, and cracks one eye at the Alpha. “What?” he snaps, then really looks at him. Pete’s face is desperate, full of anxiety. “What is it?” Patrick asks, his tone gentler.

Pete gestures feebly at the blanket. “Can I?” His eyes dart downward at it, and back to Patrick’s face. When Patrick frowns, Pete seems to anticipate what’s coming next. “I had a nightmare,” he admits miserably.

Patrick can’t possibly bring himself to deny Pete this relatively simple thing. “Sure,” he whispers fondly, and pulls the side of the blanket upward. Pete immediately scrambles under them and against Patrick’s side, pulling Patrick’s arms around him. He bows his head so Patrick can only see his dark hair and curls up small, throwing his knees over Patrick’s legs.

“Some Alpha, huh?” Pete mutters, but he still hugs Patrick tighter with all of his limbs.

“You’re more than just an Alpha, Pete,” Patrick murmurs into Pete’s hair as he begins to trace absent patterns on his back. “You’re also a son, and a brother, and a poet, and a friend. You’re a guy sleeping in a van whose mother probably misses him. You’re a human being.”

“You think so?” the older boy whispers.

Patrick looks down at his head. “Am I just an O—only a Beta?” He winces and bites his lip as he awaits the inevitable freakout, and prays Pete doesn’t notice how his heart picks up.

Pete shakes his head against Patrick’s chest. “No,” he agrees, and Patrick breathes a deep sigh of relief.

“Exactly. Your orientation doesn’t define who you are,” he advises softly, carding his fingers through Pete’s hair. “If it did, everyone would be like Mungo at the bar tonight.”

Pete laughs and repositions onto his stomach so he and Patrick can look at each other. “Mungo?”

“Well, he looked like a ‘Mungo’.” Patrick shrugs his free shoulder and smirks, avoiding the way Pete gazes at him. He decides he should turn on his side, away from Pete, but that only encourages the Alpha to spoon right up against his back and wrap both arms around him possessively. “What if I was an Omega?” he blurts out suddenly.

Pete lifts his head. “What?”

“Well, um,” Patrick licks his lips nervously, brings them between his teeth, and then went on, “I mean, at the bar, you said he should leave me alone because I’m not even an Omega. But, what if I was? Would that mean—”

“No,” Pete cuts him off. “No one should be treated like that, least of all you. I just… I said whatever I thought he would understand. He was drunk, and belligerent, and backward… I just didn’t think he’d really be up for a lecture on progressive orientation politics.”

“Yeah,” Patrick concedes. “Anyway, um, thanks for that. I think I said, but…”

Pete just squeezes him tighter. “I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

That wonderful, sweet scent envelops Patrick, and he feels every muscle in his body relax as his eyes start to droop. He feels perfectly safe and at peace. “I know,” he murmurs sleepily. He feels Pete nuzzle against his neck and has time to think _Thank God it’s not the side where my gland is_ right before he drops off.

******

Patrick’s dreams that night are serene and sensual. He is warm, protected, and cherished, grounded by the touch of his lover ( _his Alpha_ ). He can’t see much or make out any shapes or faces, just the incredible pleasure. It’s not rough or overwhelming, nothing that has him writhing or moaning in desperation; it’s just _right_.

He wakes just after dawn to find that sense of rightness fading, tipping into tingly and too hot. He’s hard almost to the point of aching, and he can feel he’s starting to slick. Pete still holds him close, face still buried against Patrick’s neck, and he wants nothing more than to stay like this, wrapped up in Pete and then in their little makeshift citadel ( _nest_ ). Maybe wake Pete up and ask to be ravished like the desperate little Omega in heat that he is…

_Oh, shit. No, no, no, no…_

In a panic, Patrick suddenly pulls Pete’s arms off of him and wriggles free. He grabs his bag and climbs over the sleeping Alpha and out of the van, trying to shut the sliding door as quietly as possible.

He’s fairly certain he’s never moved so fast in his life. He makes it to the men’s room and locks the door before he soaks his clothes through, then tosses his duffel up on the windowsill and shucks his pajamas.

He barely gets two strokes in before he comes on his hand.

Patrick knows it won’t be enough to get him through, though.

Only because he’s sure he’s alone, he decides to just go for broke. He throws his t-shirt on the floor, still carrying Pete’s musk, lies down on his side, and buries his face in it. With one hand, he strokes himself; with the other, he fingers himself open. He imagines Pete behind him, holding him like he was just a few minutes ago, touching him, slipping inside him. He sighs into the warm cotton, breathing in Pete’s scent and moaning his name as he gets three fingers inserted. He’s so wet, so hard, and so, so _close_.

And just because the Universe apparently hates him, there’s a knock on the door. “Patrick?” Pete’s voice asks from the other side. It is surely a coincidence that Patrick yelps and comes on the floor right then, hard and hot. “Patrick? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Patrick gasps as he gets himself to his feet. He’s a little wobbly, but he hangs onto the edge of a sink. “You just… startled me, is all.” He immediately digs in his bag for his suppressants and downs two, for good measure, before he gets some cool water running in the sink.

“Well… can I come in?” Pete asks, sounding almost timid.

Patrick gets his soap and lathers up his hair. “No,” he scoffs, as though Pete should know that.

Pete knocks again, as though this will somehow further his plea. “Come on, ‘Trick. I need to get in there.”

“You’re an Alpha male, Pete. The world is your toilet,” Patrick says snidely.

With a dark little laugh, one that absolutely does not send a shiver down Patrick’s spine and directly to his dick, Pete teases, “Oh, come on, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen.”

“You’re not getting in here while I’m n—not dressed,” the Omega retorts, a tremor in his voice while he puts a foot up on the adjacent sink and scrubs his traitorous reproductive organs within an inch of their lives. “I don’t care if we’re both guys. I’m not like you, Pete.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Patrick thinks maybe he’s finally been left to finish his work in peace, but then Pete says in a small voice, “Not like me?”

Patrick sighs heavily. “No, I’m not like you. I’m not beautiful and confident and comfortable letting people see me like that.”

“I’m not… um…” Pete pauses, and then decides on, “I’m not ‘people’.”

As Patrick wipes off the soap, he murmurs back, “I know. I’m just not…” The word _ready_ is the first to spring to mind, but that has implications Patrick really doesn’t want to consider, or to have Pete considering. He dries off quickly and begins searching frantically for a heat pad in his bag.

While he’s securing it to his boxer-briefs, Pete says in a low voice, “You didn’t have to run away from me, you know.”

Patrick yanks up his underwear a little too hard. “I… I didn’t ‘run away’…” he protests weakly. His jeans are not being cooperative, and Patrick realizes it’s because his legs are still too wet. He heaves and manages to get them on anyway. They feel tacky and heavy against his wet skin, but he tries to ignore it as he searches for a clean t-shirt. Thankfully, the one he finds is dark green, rather than any light color that might incur sweat stains.

Just as he’s blotting up his cum and slick from the floor, Pete scolds, “You could have just said something. It’s not like I don’t know about that.”

Patrick freezes at that. His eyes go wide, and he turns his head toward the locked door. The door with Pete on the other side who apparently _knows about that_.

“What? What do you mean?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too terrified.

“So… you had some morning wood. Big deal. It happens to all of us. I mean, you didn’t have to sneak off like you just took the Lindbergh baby, or something.”

Relief washes over the Omega, and he replies with only mild embarrassment, “Well, even if I did, why would I… like, do anything about it right there in the van?” He finishes sopping up his mess, puts some of his soap on the paper towels, and then buries them deep in the trash. Finally, after all of his things are repacked and the floor sufficiently dried, he takes a deep breath and unlocks the door. Pete nearly knocks him over, barreling into one of the stalls.

Patrick wrinkles his nose. “I’ll… be outside.”

Almost immediately, the toilet flushes, and Pete comes out and washes his hands. “Nah, I’m all set.”

“Seriously, Pete, what the fuck? You can literally piss anywhere.” Patrick narrows his eyes and shakes his head in confusion.

Pete shrugs and looks away. “Well… I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to be where you are. Make sure you’re OK.”

Before any modicum of good sense can stop him, Patrick blurts out, “Tell you what: if I ever find myself dealing with an inconvenient boner in the future, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.” He tells himself he meant it sarcastically, that he’s making fun of Pete for being weird and intrusive. Something in Pete’s face, though—hopeful, maybe even flattered—makes Patrick’s heart flutter a little, and he has to admit to himself it wasn’t quite that. At least, not entirely.

His dream comes back to him as Pete slips an arm around his shoulders, and he tries not to shiver at the memory or the contact. Or that delicious _scent_.

“I’m holding you to that, Lunchbox,” the Alpha says playfully, and kisses his cheek for good measure.

Patrick decides resolutely that he hates all these stupid hormones and pheromones, and how they just seem to be making all kinds of important choices for him.

 _It’s not pheromones or scents or anything like that, and you know it_ , the antagonistic voice in his head jabs. _You love Pete because he’s gorgeous and smart and passionate and amazing and he fucking cares about you. He trusts you. He’s vulnerable around you. He looks at you like you’re worth a hundred of him, and that’s without being able to smell any fucking Omega scent coming off of you. He’s not like other Alphas, any more than you’re like every single cock-whipped and fully domesticated Omega. You said it yourself: orientation doesn’t define who you are._

_No, just how I’m treated and how I’m expected to behave and possibly even how well the band does with a fucking Omega for a lead singer. Good luck getting shows when I can’t even set foot in the club to load in our gear without an Alpha to speak for me in some states._

He reminds himself it’s only for this tour. He’ll tell the guys after. For now, though, he needs to pitch in and help them get off the ground.

_Just the latest in my long list of excuses for being a coward._


	5. Chapter 5

Pete’s birthday falls the day after a show near a college campus in Kenosha. At a gas station stop on the way to the show, the guys all present Pete with cheap gifts and a rushed version of ‘Happy Birthday’.

“And that was your twenty-second birthday party,” Joe puns. “In ten years, you qualify for thirty seconds,” he adds when he’s met with a sea of blank faces. When there is still no reaction, he sighs heavily and folds his arms. “No one appreciates my genius.”

“Maybe in ten years, that will be funny,” Andy deadpans.

Pete sticks his chin out. “Anyway, you’re a day early.”

“We have tomorrow off, though,” Andy explains. “This way, you can be stupid tonight after we play, and recover tomorrow. That’s our _real_ birthday gift.”

“No lectures?” Pete asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

Andy shakes his head. “No lectures. And we even got you stuff that will help with the hangover.”

Now, Pete peruses the offerings. “Red licorice, Slim Jims, and… Barbecue Ruffles and Dr. Pepper? Aww, you guys!” He looks around at his bandmates with affection. “The chips and soda were from you, ‘Trick, weren’t they?”

Patrick blushes and nods. “Yeah.”

“Thank you! Those are my favorites!” Pete launches himself at the younger boy and nearly tackles him in a hug.

“Uh, you’re welcome,” Patrick manages around a mouthful of Pete’s t-shirt.

Joe smirks at Andy, who softly chides, “Relax.”

When they arrive at the club, they barely have enough time to set up, and Patrick has to rely on wet wipes with the other boys. He downs two suppressants as a precaution, though, and calls it good.

After their set, they stick around at the bar, have some drinks, and mingle with fans. Patrick can’t help noticing that two girls have captured his bandmates’ attention, and he tries not to grind his teeth down to powder about it.

The two couldn’t be more different, though they’re both stunning. One of them is a striking Alpha named Dina, who reminds Patrick of Pete’s friend Gabe Saporta as a woman. She’s tall, lean, and dark, with long limbs, high cheekbones, and a huge, white smile. Her wild, black, wavy hair is only barely kept off her face with every pin and clip in the world. She wears slashed-up grey jeans, black Chucks, and an Aerosmith t-shirt with the sleeves and collar cut off. The other, Kerri, is a short, ginger Beta with her hair cut in a blunt bob with bangs. She’s curvy and pale with icy blue eyes and loads of freckles, and she wears a lacy, black, gothy dress with bell sleeves, black boots, and a black choker.

Joe and Andy stand at the bar with Dina, who is easily at least 5’11”, talking up to her with no reservations. Pete and Kerri sit at a table nearby, and she is laughing way too hard at everything Pete says, rocking toward him and touching his arm.

Rather than watch the man he loves ( _do I?_ ) flirt with some girl, Patrick decides to head backstage and start packing up. He’s surprised when someone crashes into his back and nearly makes him drop his guitar.

“Trickydoll! We have a place to crash tonight!” Pete is already buzzed and slurring.

Patrick grunts. “Lemme guess. With Dina and Kerri?” he asks, trying not to sound too irritated.

Pete notices, though. “Well, yeah. Is that OK? Or, I mean, do you prefer sleeping in the van?” He sounds a bit petulant.

“No, it’s fine. Anything is better than the van at this point.” Patrick slams his guitar case shut, probably a little too hard.

“Awww, Patrick, you know you’re still my favorite,” Pete purrs, hugging Patrick tighter. “You’re always my favorite.”

There’s an unexpected sincerity in the words that gives Patrick pause and makes him take Pete’s forearms in his hands. “Yeah?”

Pete kisses his cheek sloppily. “Always.”

Patrick smiles fondly. “OK, well, let’s finish this up and go.”

******

Kerri and Dina rent a house near the campus with a third girl. Her name is Stacey, and she’s a plain, cute Beta with short, brown hair and steely grey eyes. She quietly curls up in an armchair and nurses a beer while Dina and Kerri play Sorry! with Pete, Andy, and Joe, and somehow make it into a drinking game. Andy, of course, sticks to water, but laughs along as the other four just get more and more inebriated.

Patrick asks to use the shower, and Stacey graciously allows it and directs him down the hall. He scrubs off the last few nights of grime from the van, the clubs, and his heat, which is now thankfully over. When he then asks if there’s a washer and dryer, Stacey smiles and directs him to the basement. Patrick thinks he sees something glint in her stormcloud eyes—insightful, knowing, maybe—but decides to ignore it as he descends the stairs with his duffel.

Once his clothes are in the washer, he unfolds a lawn chair that was leaning against the wall and curls himself up in it, hugging his legs. He can hear the laughter carrying from above him and wishes he could just be part of it.

 _You could_ , his mind hissed, _if you didn’t insist on hiding from your best friends all the time._

Frustrated with this circular conversation with himself, he rests his forehead on his knees and cries. _Why did I have to be born a stupid fucking Omega? Why couldn’t I just be a Beta and be normal?_

_Oh, because only Betas are normal? I wonder what Pete and Andy would say about that. Or Benny?_

_Shut up. Benny wasn’t smart enough to hide, and he paid for it._

_So what happened to him is his fault?_

Patrick shakes his head violently. _No! It’s **their** fault! But Benny should have known. We all know what happens to Omegas when they don’t… take precautions. Betas just get to be out of the way of all that. I just want to forget about it. All of it._

_Benny probably would have liked that, too, but that’s not reality. Imagine what you could do for Omegas everywhere if you were visible?_

_Maybe one day. But definitely not now. I’m just a kid, and we’re nobodies._

He wishes Pete were there right then to hold him, like he was in the van that night. Patrick felt so safe and protected, like nothing could harm him. Now, though, he’ll probably go to bed with Kerri once the game is over and everyone calls it a night. That thought only makes him cry harder.

The door to the basement opens then, and footsteps approach down the stairs. Patrick isn’t sure whether he really wants it to be Pete, or he really doesn’t. Thankfully, the washer cycle ends just then, so he has something to occupy himself.

It isn’t Pete, he notices while he’s stuffing his clothes into the dryer, and he sighs with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Stacey reaches the concrete floor and goes over to a workbench under one of the high windows, opens it, and sits beneath it.

“Patrick, right?” she asks amiably, and he nods as she shakes a cigarette out of a crumpled pack. “Does this bother you?” Patrick shakes his head no, and she lights up, then holds the pack toward him. He shakes his head again.

“Singer,” he murmurs as an explanation. “Thanks, though.” As soon as the dryer is running, he immediately goes back to the lawn chair and curls up in it.

Stacey nods toward the stairwell. “Not in the partying mood?” she asks. Patrick just shakes his head yet again. “Isn’t it your friend’s birthday?” He nods. “Something wrong?”

Patrick shrugs a shoulder and says, “Just tired, I guess.” When Stacey doesn’t say anything, he looks at her and mumbles, “Sleeping in a van for weeks, y’know, it’s not always the most comfortable.”

She blows smoke out the window over her shoulder and nods. “Mhm. Well, I have a bed, if you’re interested.” She takes another drag and raises her eyebrows as she looks Patrick up and down appreciatively. Some of Patrick’s anxiety must show in his eyes, because she laughs and says, “Relax, kid. I’m not looking to claim you, or anything. I just thought we might have some fun. I’m a Beta, anyway.”

“So am I,” he replies, trying to harden his face.

Stacey nods at him and exhales another stream of smoke. “OK,” she says, flicking ash off her cigarette.

Patrick feels his chin jutting out. “I am,” he asserts.

“OK,” she says again, simply. “I have seen this behavior before, you know.” She raises her eyebrows and nods toward the machines. “The compulsive showering, the nonstop laundry, the hiding away from your friends, the crying, the fear.” Patrick lifts his head and looks at her warily, and she nods toward the staircase again. “Do they know?”

“Know what?” he asks, hoping he sounds casual.

Stacey puts the back of her hand against the side of her mouth dramatically. “About that big goose egg you’re carrying around,” she stage-whispers as she draws a circle in the air with her cigarette hand. “I’m guessing not.” Patrick stares back, wide-eyed, his heart hammering in his chest. “Calm down. I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s not my business. I’m just… I had a friend who was like you, and... well, if it were me, I’d wanna know, and I’d wanna know from _you_.”

Patrick decides if he never actually says anything, there’s a certain amount of plausible deniability (though he doesn’t know to put those exact words on it), so he just continues staring at her.

“Anyway,” she adds with a glint in her eye, “that offer of a warm bed and a warm Beta is open, if you want it.”

Patrick shakes his head again and rests his chin back on his knees. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Hurriedly, he looks up at her again and explains, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re really pretty, and I’m sure it’d be great, and stuff like this, like, never ever happens to me, so I pretty much have to be out of my mind to say no, but...” he licks his lips and casts about the room nervously, “um, I’m… I’m kind of in love with someone else. It just… wouldn’t be right.” He adds this last almost inaudibly and puts his chin down again.

Stacey puts out her cigarette in the ashtray. “She’s a lucky girl, whoever she is.”

“ _He_ ,” Patrick corrects softy. “He… doesn’t know.” He feels his eyes welling up again and he swallows around a lump in his throat, then inadvertently glances over his shoulder at the staircase. He doesn’t mean to, really he doesn’t, but it’s like he can’t think about Pete, talk about him, or even remotely allude to him without looking toward wherever he is, like he’s a flower and Pete is the sun.

Unfortunately, it’s more than enough for Stacey to notice. “No way. It’s that guy, Pete, right? The hot one with dark hair?” Patrick just blushes hotly and hides his face. “Nice,” she observes. “That’s actually kinda sweet.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yeah, real sweet.” He sighs heavily and just stares at the dryer.

“He wasn’t having as much fun after you came down here, you know,” she says. “He kept looking around for you, hoping you’d come back up and join them.”

“He’s my best friend,” Patrick says sourly. “He probably just needed someone who’d let him climb all over them and be the center of attention without complaining.”

Stacey hops down from the bench. “I think he could have that with almost anyone. Kerri was practically throwing herself at him.”

Patrick scoffs. “Thanks. That’s reassuring.”

She crouches down in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. “He wanted _you_ ,” she emphasizes. “Trust me.”

Patrick just stares back, uncertain.

Later, when his clothes are dry and packed back in his bag, Patrick lugs everything back upstairs and into the living room. Everything is dark, and there’s someone sleeping on the foldout couch. He hears muffled laughter and some moans from the rest of the house, and he knows everyone who can claim a bed has done so.

As he looks around for another spot to claim, he notices a familiar scent— _Pete’s_ scent. He looks closer and sees it’s Pete on the foldout couch, alone. What’s more, he’s hugging a pillow against him like a stuffed animal.

_Or a person._

With a fond sigh and a smile, Patrick pulls the pillow out of the Alpha’s arms and puts it right, then climbs under the covers next to him. To his great relief, Pete immediately snuggles up against him like before, holding him close with both arms. Patrick thinks he hears Pete mumble his name before he falls asleep himself.

Patrick dreams he’s lying in a meadow, awash in bright sunlight, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. He’s surrounded by tall sweetgrass, clover, and buttercups, and the air is heavy with warmth and humidity. He can hear heat bugs whining, and a hand closes over his. When he looks over, he sees Pete smiling at him, eyes bright.

 _I love you, Patrick,_ he sees Pete’s mouth say, but there’s no voice, just the hum of the birds and insects around them.

 _I love you, Pete_ , he says back.

Patrick jolts awake at the sound of his own voice, heart in his throat as he realizes he’s spoken out loud. Sunlight streams in through the window of the living room, and Pete still snores softly, an arm flung over Patrick’s middle.

He manages to calm down and fall back asleep, but the dream won’t return. Patrick isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or not, as with everything where Pete is concerned.


	6. Chapter 6

When Patrick wakes up again later that morning, everyone else is ostensibly still sleeping, and he and Pete are still alone. The Alpha is awake, staring at the ceiling. 

“There you are,” he says with a grin when Patrick rolls toward him. “Sleep OK? Pleasant dreams and all that?” 

Patrick is unable to keep himself from blushing and hiding his face. “I slept fine,” he mumbles into the pillow. “You?” He cracks one eye and half-smiles. 

“Oh, yes, sleep was had, dreams were pleasant,” Pete groans, stretching, while Patrick tries desperately not to stare at the Alpha’s body. Pete rolls onto his side, props his head up by his elbow, and tugs on Patrick’s arm. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” Patrick is stunned by how beautiful Pete is just then—the sun from the window shines diagonally on his head, framing his face and giving his eyes a strange, green shimmer. Patrick would Pete almost anything he wanted to know right now. 

Pete hesitates, and Patrick wonders if he’s actually… nervous? He looks him full on now, cheek pillowed on his arm, and raises his eyebrows in invitation. 

“Well, um… what do I smell like to you?” He squeezes his eyes shut and holds up his free hand. “I know, I know, it’s a dumb, primeval, Alpha jerk thing to ask, but… I’m curious. No one’s ever really told me.” 

Patrick takes a deep, cleansing breath and casts about the room, like the lamp on the end table might have the answer. “Um, I don’t know. It’s… it’s always different, you know? Like, sometimes, it’s outdoorsy, sometimes it’s sweet, sometimes it’s just sweat, or whatever. But… it’s always _Pete_ , like, underneath it. Does… does that make sense?” 

“Yeah,” Pete says, sighing with relief. “Yeah, I guess that does. I mean, like, is it nice, though?” 

“Yes,” Patrick says immediately, without thinking, then gasps a breath in when he realizes what he’s done. “I, uh, I mean, it’s… it’s not unpleasant.” His face is burning, and he knows he’s absolutely crimson. When he looks at Pete again, he’s smiling hopefully, so he doubles down. “Yes. Yes, it’s nice.” He smirks, embarrassed, and lowers his eyes to the blanket. 

Thankfully, Patrick is saved any further in-depth conversations, because a door down the hall opens, and soon after, Andy and Dina stumble out into the living room together. Their hair is tousled, and Patrick is pretty sure he sees some scratches on Andy’s neck and one of his arms. 

“Nice,” Pete remarks, and Dina laughs loudly. Joe and Kerri follow soon after, much in the same shape as Andy and Dina, minus the scratches. “Well, I’m glad someone got laid last night,” Pete snarked. “I had to settle for cuddles. Patrick’s waiting for the wedding night.” He throws himself across Patrick’s back and tries to wrap an arm around his middle. 

With a grunt, Patrick throws Pete off of him. “Well, that doesn’t stop you from trying, does it?” he retorts. “I told you, Mr. Wentz, I am a lady of virtue.” 

The lot of them all erupt in laughter as Stacey comes down the hall and peeks around the corner into the room. She meets Patrick’s gaze, then darts her eyes back and forth meaningfully between him and Pete. Patrick shakes his head slightly and shrugs a shoulder. She shrugs back. 

_What are you gonna do?_

They all go to breakfast, and Dina nearly gets hem thrown out with how loud she is. She swears she can’t help it, it’s just who she is, and Stacey rolls her eyes. “Sure, it is,” she says good-naturedly. “I’m going outside for a smoke.” She drops Patrick a quick wink before she makes her way outside. 

“Well, well, Patrick,” Joe says, grinning wolfishly. “Looks like you could’ve gotten lucky, too.” He waggles his eyebrows. 

Patrick shakes his head and waves Joe off. “Nah. We just got to talk a little bit last night. She’s nice.” He shrugs for lack of anything better to say. 

“Hot, too,” Joe comments. 

“Duh,” Andy chimes in. “Congratulations on having eyes.” 

“She’s... she’s cool, but she’s just... not my type,” Patrick says softly, blushing furiously. 

Pete waggles his eyebrows. “Well, then, Von Stumph, what _is_ your type?” 

_You,_ his mind practically sings. _You’re gorgeous, and your smile makes my heart fizzle and burst like shaken soda, and if my hormones weren’t suppressed within an inch of themselves, I’m pretty sure_ _I’d be under your Thrall permanently. I love you. I love you IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou..._

His mind races, leaving him temporarily unable to decide what to say in its stead, so he just blushes harder and shrugs, making a noncommittal sound. “I just... don’t have any feelings like that for her, OK? I don’t know.” His tone is growing a little annoyed. 

“Well,” Pete pronounces, “I guess you’ll have to settle for cuddling with me until your type does come along.” 

Patrick just shrugs again. _Oh no, not that._

****** 

After saying their somewhat awkward goodbyes to the girls, the boys pile in the van and take off again. 

The next few weeks are a blur of gigs in tiny, shitty bars all over Wisconsin, and at nearly every single one, it seems, either their arrival time or the lack of a proper facility with a lock on it means that Patrick can’t wash up as he feels he needs to. He uses the wet wipes, like everyone else, but he doubles up on his suppressant when this happens. 

Over that time, he feels the tour starting to wear on him. Not being home, feeling dirty and sweaty and generally gross, sleeping in a van or on some rando’s floor—it all just renders him exhausted. He’s sleeping anywhere from ten to twelve hours a night (or day), whenever they’re in the van or not at a gig. He thinks he must be dead sick of gas station fare and cheap-ass fast food, because none of it appeals to him now. 

Pete keeps trying to offer him his favorite chips, candy, soda, or beef jerky, but Patrick just can’t bring himself to choke it down. 

“You’ve gotta eat something, Pattycakes,” he says gently, pushing a bag of whatever treat he’s procured at the younger boy. “You’re too thin, and you’re obviously exhausted.” 

Patrick shakes his head slowly, making a disgusted face, and sips his water (or Gatorade). “I just can’t eat that stuff anymore.” 

Seeming to catch some kind of hint in that, Pete switches to granola bars, yogurt, and whatever kind of fruit (fresh or packaged in syrup) the places where they stop might have. Patrick smiles wanly and sometimes takes a bite or two, but that’s always all he can manage. Then, he climbs in the back and sleeps until they get to their next venue. 

Patrick can’t sing anymore, either. At least, not like he did at the beginning. He feels like he’s gasping for air all the time, and he’s used his inhaler more in the last two weeks then he did all last year, he’s pretty sure. All he can move at load-in and breakdown now is his guitar case, cords, and Andy’s cymbals. Any attempt to manage anything heavier than that completely knocks him on his ass. 

He’s not too tired to notice he’s running out of suppressants way too fast, though, but he can’t seem to figure out how to get more without arousing suspicion (or at least some kind of attention; Pete’s been watching him like a hawk lately). The idea of figuring out where to find a pharmacy, calling his doctor, and somehow getting to said pharmacy to get it all just seems too overwhelming, anyway. 

_Just a little longer. Just a little bit longer, then I can go home._

_And tell them the truth, of course, right?_

_Right. Of course._

They get to a bar near some part of the University of Wisconsin at Madison, which Patrick is pretty sure could be its own town. At least, it feels that way when they have to park two blocks away and walk back after they unload. 

Patrick is sweating profusely, and he latches onto his inhaler for dear life. Literally. It also doesn’t help that his feet don’t seem to fit in his sneakers right anymore. They’re swollen and painful, and he has to loosen the laces almost halfway down get them on. He soldiers on and says nothing, but Pete watches the way he winces, sighs, and pauses to rotate his ankles and try to shake out his lower legs. 

“You OK?” he asks softly when Joe and Andy have wandered a few feet ahead of them. Patrick just nods, afraid if he speaks, anything he says will sound too much like a lie, or maybe too much like the truth. 

They get to the club, and Patrick immediately heads to the bar for a water, then goes to the bathroom. He gulps it down and leans on the sink, trying to catch his breath, then splashes cold water on his face and looks in the mirror for the first time in... he doesn’t even know how long. 

The person looking back at him is like some demon-zombie-vampire version of himself. His skin is candle-white and waxy, his eyes seem sunken into his skull, and there are dark circles under his eyes. His lips have no color, and even his irises seem paler, somehow drained of their usual greenish-blue. In sharp contrast to his ballooning feet and ankles, the rest of him swims in his clothes; his arms look like sticks jammed in the sleeves, and he’s run out of notches in his belt to hold up his jeans. 

The shock sends Patrick reeling, and he grabs onto the sink to steady himself. He takes slow deep breaths, as much as his lungs will allow, and waits for the world to come back into focus. 

It occurs to him dimly to wonder if the sweat dampening his t-shirt reeks of his Omega pheromones, but he can’t smell anything, and he figures it’s been so long since he smelled his actual scent, he’s no longer so unaware of it, the way most people are to their own scent, so he’ll know if it returns. 

When he leaves the bathroom, he crashes into Pete, nearly knocking him over. 

“There you are,” Pete says, an echo of that morning at the girls’ place. _How long ago was that?_ he wonders. He can’t tell anymore. He does notice that Pete sounds relieved. 

Patrick scoffs. “Yeah. Can’t a guy piss without an audience?” 

Pete returns without missing a beat, “You haven’t pissed in days.” 

“And how exactly would you know that?” Patrick asks, accusing. The air is leaving his lungs again, and he can’t seem to pull in a breath. Where’s his inhaler? He pats his pockets uselessly. 

“We’re guys. The world is our toilet, remember? I haven’t seen you stop the van or even go when anyone else did in I don’t even know how long anymore.” 

Patrick’s legs feel unsteady again, and his vision starts to swim, distorting Pete’s face. It almost makes arguing with him easier, except for the not being able to breathe or balance himself or see right this moment. “D-- Dude, your care... careful observa...tion of me... It’s getting... creepy,” he manages between breaths. 

Pete grabs his bicep, and Patrick should be grateful for the assist, but he’s too busy being all independent and grown-up and annoyed at the fact that Pete won’t just let him be fine and not at all sick. “Forgive me if I actually want to make sure you’re OK and, like, actually caring about you.” 

“You...care a little...too much,” Patrick gasps at what he suspects is still his best friend’s face. 

There’s a warm, soft hand with guitar calluses on the side of his face just then, and Pete’s arm is around his back. “Because I love you,” he admits softly, a twinge of pain in it. 

Patrick is drawn in closer by the embrace, bringing the Alpha back into focus. Mostly. “Love you, too,” he says, without needing to pause for air, and is simultaneously proud of this and terrified by his admission. Still, he decides to just go for broke and blame it on his illness later. “Like... really... love you... for real. The, like... the big... big kind.” 

Pete’s sudden smile is so big and so bright that Patrick almost needs to squint at it. “That’s what I meant, too, baby.” 

Then Pete’s lips are on his, and Patrick is sure he’s gone blind now, but really, his eyes are just closed. It’s sweet and soft, without tongue, which Patrick was not expecting if they were ever to kiss, but it’s angled just so that their mouths are fully connected, and it feels fucking _awesome_. It feels like the only thing tethering Patrick to this reality. 

He keeps his eyes closed after Pete pulls away. “Did that... just... really happen?” he asks. He doesn’t dare open his eyes and end this particular dream sequence, if it didn’t. Unfortunately, he also thinks maybe he needs to open them, because the floor feels like it’s tilting under his feet. 

He hears the Alpha ( ** _my_ ** _Alpha now, mine, mine, mine_ ) cry out something as he suddenly falls, and feels strong arms catching him by his armpits. His toes ache where they’re pointing against the floor in this awkward position, but he ignores it and opens his eyes. Pete is right there, face full of concern. “Patrick, are you OK?” 

Patrick frowns in confusion. “Pete?” he murmurs. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m here.” He’s so _close_. 

“What... wha're you... doi’here?” he slurs around his shallow, wheezing breaths. “S’late... my mom’ll k—” The end of the sentence is lost as everything goes black. 


	7. Chapter 7

Patrick isn’t awake for the commotion that follows this. 

Pete makes a helpless sort of yelping sound, begs Patrick to wake up a couple of times, and then starts calling for help. Andy tells someone to call 911. Joe helps Pete lower Patrick to the floor slowly and gently, and hugs Pete’s shoulders while the Alpha just holds the guy he hopes is still is boyfriend, crying and pleading with him in a sort of mantra:  _ please don’t leave me, please be alright baby, please don’t leave me _ . Joe tries not to cry because he wants to be a support for Pete, but it’s not easy, looking at one of his best friends lying nearly lifeless on the floor. 

The paramedics arrive, and Andy, apparently being the only one still of any kind of sound mind,  has to be the Alpha for the two and pry them off of Patrick so the paramedics can work. They ask what happened, and Pete tearfully describes it as best he can while they do an initial check. Patrick is still breathing and still has a pulse, but both are extremely low and slow, meaning he’s alive, but  definitely not OK. 

Pete rides in the ambulance with Patrick, holding one small, pale hand in both of his and continuing his entreaties to anyone or anything in the entire Universe that might listen for Patrick to  _ please be alright, please let him be alright, I’ll give anything as long as he’s alright _ . 

“What’s his name?” one of them barks. 

“Hm? Oh, Patrick,” Pete replies. “Patrick Stumph, with an ‘h’.” 

“Where?” the paramedic asks. 

“At the end?” he answers, like it’s a question. 

The guy starts interrogating Pete, rapid-fire.  “Age?” 

“Seventeen,” Pete murmurs as he kisses Patrick’s knuckles. 

“Orientation?”

“Beta,” Pete replies, watching the other EMT put a blood pressure cuff on Patrick’s arm and a pulse-oximeter on one of his fingers. 

“He  do any drugs?” He doesn’t look at Pete when he asks this one.

Pete shakes his head vehemently. “No, never! I mean, not that I know of.” 

The EMT nods.  “Your name?”

“Pete Wentz. The Third. With a ‘z’. At the end of my last name, not in ‘The Third’. Um...” 

“And your age?” the EMT interrupts. 

“Twenty-two .” 

“Orientation?”  He puts an oxygen mask over Patrick’s mouth and nose.

“I’m an Alpha.” 

“Relationship to the patient?” 

“Um, I’m his partner, I think.” Pete looks  sadly at Patrick's slack, lifeless-looking face as he says it. 

The EMT cocks an eyebrow. “You  _ think _ ?” 

Pete feels tears well up. His voice wavers as he explains, “Well, we didn’t, like, officially talk about it. I mean, I told him I loved him, and he said he loved me, too, and then I kissed him, and then he collapsed. I don’t know what that means. Do you?” He looks at the guy. “Does that even count? Is that, like, kissing without proper consent? Did I...” 

The paramedic snaps his fingers.  “Hey, stay with me.” 

He asks about any other symptoms or strange things, and suddenly, Pete jumps into Alpha mode. He is able to recount every single thing Patrick’s consumed for the last couple of weeks (short as that list is), every time he’s gone to the bathroom, every ache and pain, and every change in behavior, from sleeping all the time to his feet hurting to his drastic weight loss. 

The EMTs share  a glance, then just go back to monitoring his vitals. Pete doesn’t miss it, but he says nothing. 

As th ey pull up to the hospital, the paramedic who grilled Pete hands him a clipboard with a form on it. “Here. As his Alpha, you’ll have to sign this, in the absence of a parent.” 

Pete furrows his brow. “Um, I don’t  really think that’s—” 

“Look, he’s … underage, OK?” the EMT snaps. “We need either an Alpha or a parent to sign this so we’re able to treat him here.” 

“He’s seventeen, not brain-dead,”  Pete retorts, equally irritated. 

The EMT  shrugs. “Well, the nearest place that doesn’t require a signature for... for kids like him is Meriter, and that’s ten or fifteen minutes away, if we're lucky.” 

Pe te gives an irritated groan. “Fine.” He signs the form, and Patrick is rushed in through the Emergency entrance. 

The stretcher bypasses everyone sitting in the waiting area, EMTs yelling codes and nurses calling for things STAT, like they’re on fucking  _ ER _ , or something. The cacophony of voices and running footsteps start to sound far away, and all Pete can see is Patrick, his face obscured by the respirator except for his closed eyes, dark and sunken. He holds the railing and tries to keep up while they park the stretcher in one of the bays and begin hooking up an IV and applying new, different monitors to check on his blood pressure, oxygen, and heart rate. Pete’s no doctor, but he knows the numbers that turn up on the screen are decidedly not good. They blink angrily as the monitor starts beeping, and the doctor and nurses begin scrambling around Patrick, adjusting tubes and hollering orders.

The doctor, a pretty Black woman with long braids pulled back at the nape of her neck,  green scrubs, and a white coat puts her hands gently on Pete’s shoulders. “Pete, right?” Pete just nods dumbly, eyes on Patrick. “I’m Dr. Kelley. Look, we need to run some tests right now, so you’ll need to go to the waiting area. We won’t have any answers for a couple of hours, anyway. Do you have anyone you can contact?” She cranes to meet Pete’s eyes as she asks this, bringing him back to the moment.

Pete blinks a couple of times. “Um, yeah. The rest of our band is coming here. I should… I should call his mom, though.” 

“Good. We’ll keep him stable in the meantime.” She turns him toward the waiting area with a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder and a smile, but Pete notices how the smile drops immediately as she turns away. 

_ They know something, _ he thinks.  _ They know something, and they don’t want to tell me. _

“Doctor?” Pete calls after her. 

She turns around, fixing that smile on her face again. “Yes, Pete?” 

“If he wakes up, will you let me know? I just want him to know I’m here.” He fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt as he says this. 

“Of course,” she says warmly, and turns away again. Pete watches her go for  a second or two, then turns around and heads back to the waiting area.

Joe and Andy are both there when Pete emerges. They all hug simultaneously, Joe and Andy rubbing Pete’s back. 

When they pull apart, Andy asks softly, “Do they know anything?” 

Pete scrubs his face with his hands. “They say they don’t, but I can’t help feeling like they probably  do, and they just don’t want to tell me.”

“Well, they may suspect something, or have an idea,  y’know , but they probably can’t say until the tests come back,” Joe offers, his blue eyes big and sympathetic. “Or maybe it’s because you’re not a family member?”

“I was good enough to sign off as his Alpha to get him in here, but not good enough to be in the know about what the fuck’s wrong with him?” Pete’s voice cracks  at the end of his question.

“ _ His _ Alpha?” Andy asks slowly , almost suspiciously.

Pete blushes and shrugs. “Well, ah, the, um… the EMT said it’s because he’s underage, so I’m, like, his guardian , or something. At least until...” He pauses, trails off, then looks away toward the pay phone in one of the hallways. “I should call Pat.”

Andy takes his shoulders and guides him to a chair. “Why don’t you let me worry about that? You should sit down, maybe take some deep breaths?” He raises his eyebrows, and Pete concedes with a weak little nod as he sits.

Joe sits next to him and puts an arm  around his shoulders. Pete leans into it, closes his eyes, and sighs at the almost immediate relaxation he feels from Joe’s calming Beta pheromones.

_ Nothing like this ever happened around Patrick, _ Pete thinks.  _ Weird. _

“Pat’s getting on the next flight up here,” Andy announces. Pete looks up at him without lifting his head and nods.

“Thanks, man,” he says around a yawn. “Did she say when that was?”

Andy shakes his head. “There are plenty of them, though. She’ll probably be here before dawn.” On seeing Pete yawn again, he adds, “Maybe you should  close your eyes for a while. We can wake you up if anything new happens.”

Pete nods groggily. It seems like all the tension and panic has just drained out of him, now that he knows the situation is out of his hands for the  moment , and has left him positively exhausted.  Andy sits on the opposite side of him, and they  all just lean on each other. Pete breathes a heavy sigh, grateful for his friends, and hopeful that everything will turn out OK in some irrational way, now that he knows M om is coming. He doesn’t have to be in charge anymore, for now, because he has no idea what the hell he’s doing.

It’s the thought that he’s  kind of a pitiful Alpha for that, that  carries him into sleep.

******

When Patricia Vaughn Stumph shows up at the University of Wisconsin hospital and marches directly into the Emergency waiting area, she stops short at what she finds there.

Andy is slumped against the wall, a sweatshirt wedged beside his head, his chin resting on the heel of his hand, propped up by his elbow on the arm of the  bench. Pete’s head rests on  Andy's shoulder, more or less,  his  arms crossed over himself and hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. His mouth hangs slight l y open. Joe looks supremely uncomfortable, his head turned  upright against Pete’s upper arm while the rest of him leans to his left, his neck bent awkwardly. Still, he seems to sleep peacefully . His s hoodie turned backward over his upper body , and  both of  his fists are tucked up under it and against his chin.

Pat smiles fondly at them, thankful that Patrick has friends like them. She passes them by to head to the information desk.

“I’m looking for Patrick Stumph, with an ‘h’ at the end, date of birth 4/27/84? He was brought in by ambulance earlier tonight?” she inquires politely of the clerk there.

The clerk looks up, tired and bleary-eyed, and says in a bored tone, “And you are?”

Pat digs in her pocketbook for her license. “I’m his mother, Patricia Vaughn Stumph. His friends just called me to come up here from Chicago because he was here.” She gest ures to the jumbled heap of unwashed boy in the corner of the waiting area.

Once the young woman looks at the ID, and then at Pat, she blinks and says, “Excuse me a moment.” She hands the license back and walks away.

Pat puts her license away, slings her purse back over her shoulder with her overnight bag, folds her arms, and waits. She blows out a nervous breath, and begins tapping her foot on the linoleum f loor unconsciously.

The clerk returns with Dr. Kelley, who introduces herself to Pat, and they  exchange a brief pleasantry.

“I’m glad you’re here,” the doctor says in a low voice, eyes darting toward the sleeping boys. “I’d like the chance to discuss Patrick’s case with you before involving anyone who isn’t a relative.”

The two women disappear behind the doors into the treatment area. As they’re leaving, Pete opens his eyes. Pat’s foot tapping woke him up, as light a sleeper as he was most of the time ( _when I’m not wrapped around Patrick_ ), and he hoped to eavesdrop. Dr. Kelley is apparently not taking any chances, though, much to Pete’s disappointment.

He stays where he is, not wanting to disturb Joe and Andy, until his neck simply can’t take it anymore, and he has to sit up. They both inhale sharply, scrunch up their faces, and get themselves upright, stretching and making the generally unpleasant sounds that tend to accompany waking up.

“Pat’s here,” Pete informs them quietly. “Maybe now we’ll actually find out what the hell is wrong with ‘Trick.” His tone is bitter and resentful at not being allowed to know. He probably can’t help even if he did know, but that’s not the point. Patrick is _his_ , too, now, and Pete needs to know what happened to him.

Pat and Dr. Kelley emerge from behind the double doors, faces solemn. The three boys stand up and try to straighten their rumpled clothes as best they can.

“Hi, Mom,” Joe says sheepishly with a little wave of his hand.

She hugs him, then Andy, and Pete last. As soon as he is in her arms, he bursts into big, ugly sobs. He cries hot tears against her cotton shirt, clinging to her like a child.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he  whines into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I was supposed to take care of him, and I tried, but I... I shoulda... ”  He can’t finish his sentence, a new jag overtaking him. “This is all my fault,” he says pitifully.

Pat sighs into Pete’s dirty hair. “No, it isn’t,” she tells him gently. 

He pulls back from her, his eyes red and puffy  and his face wearing confusion. “No?”

She shakes her head. “It isn’t any of your faults. This is his fault... and probably partly mine.” She pauses a moment, looking at their anxious faces. “Come on. The doctor wants to speak to all of us.”

They go back through the doors, where Dr. Kelley is waiting. She leads them into the bay where Patrick is still out cold, machines beeping all around him, and she pulls the curtain. Pete makes a beeline for the bed, sits on it, and takes Patrick’s hand in both of his again. Pat watches this and smiles wa rmly at him.

“I’m sorry I don’t really have a proper conference room, or anything,” she begins. “Pat and I have discussed Patrick’s situation and prognosis, and she feels there’s something you need to know before I tell you anything else.”

Pat looks around at them, trepidation and shame on her face, then takes a deep breath and says, “Patrick isn’t a Beta. ” She waits a moment while they absorb that, then announces, “He’s an Omega.”

So many pieces fall into place in Pete’s head that he feels like a world-class moron for not noticing sooner. All the insane bathing , the constant laundry , the way the EMTs were being all weird about Patrick being  seen here ,  all  the running and hiding. It was so fucking obvious. How could he not know?

_ I didn’t want to see _ , Pete  admit s to himself.  _ I didn’t want to know Patrick was hiding something, basically lying to me. So, I didn’t. _

He fe els new tears welling up in his eyes. Half of him th inks how lonely it must  be , being so afraid and not feeling like  you can tell anyone who you really are; the other half thinks Patrick is a n untrustworthy asshole and a shitty friend for deceiving them ( _ deceiving  _ **_ me _ ** ) all this time. 

Pete looks down at his supposed-best-friend-maybe-boyfriend, motionless and somehow even smaller in the gown they’d had to change him into.His head and his heart hurt trying to reconcile what Pat has just told them with the shy, talented, supremely cranky, beautiful boy he's known all this time, and even less so with what he sees right now. He can’t seem to wrap his head around the idea that Patrick had really been hiding this for over a year. It flies in the face of everything Pete has ever believed about him.

And then  Pet e s ees it.

Just behind  Patrick’ s collarbone on  the left side, only visible now that Patrick ha s dropped so much weight,  i s a protrusion just about as big around as Pete’s thumbprint.

It’s  Patrick’s fucking Omega gland.


	8. Chapter 8

Pete stares at the lump—the _goddamned Omega gland_ —on Patrick’s neck, and suddenly feels totally unmoored, adrift in open waters. No map, no sextant, no celestial bodies, and no wheel to steer even if he had the slightest clue where he was. 

Because Patrick is no longer the North Star Pete had always believed him to be. 

He lets go of Patrick’s hand and moves to the chair nearest the bed, allowing Pat to take his place as the Person In Charge of Patrick. His own hand feels empty, colder, but he isn’t sure what he is to the boy in the hospital bed anymore, since he never told Pete who he really was. 

_You know_ **_who_ ** _he is. You just didn’t know_ **_what_ ** _he is. You can’t define him by his orientation, any more than he ever defined you by yours, asshole. Remember that conversation?_

_Yeah, but I was being honest with him. I was letting him in, letting myself be vulnerable with him,_ **_trusting_ ** _him. And he didn’t trust me._

_He didn’t trust_ **_anyone_ ** _._

**_I’m_ ** _not just anyone!_

Pete’s internal argument is interrupted by Dr. Kelley’s kind, patient voice: “Patrick’s symptoms are all due to overdosing on Omega pheromone suppressants. His adrenal glands have all but shut down, which is why he didn’t have any energy or appetite. This also caused his heart to slow, which caused the shortness of breath and the swelling in his feet and ankles. It mimics heart failure, but it’s really more of a full metabolic slowing. We have him on a continuous drip of liquid nutrients, Lasix to take the fluid off of his legs, and a low dose of adrenaline to get his heart and glands back up to speed.” 

They all look at the enormous doodad sewn onto the right side of Patrick’s chest with three tubes running out of it to hanging bags. 

“That’s a triple-port IV in his aorta,” Dr. Kelley goes on. “It’s the best way to get everything into his system quickly.” 

Pat turns back to the doctor. “Will he be able to come back to Chicago soon?” 

Dr. Kelley frowns and shakes her head. “I can’t recommend transferring him anywhere until he’s more stable. That could take anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks.” 

“I can’t afford to stay in Madison that long, Doctor,” Pat says. “I need to be able to take my son back closer to home as soon as possible.” 

“We’ll do everything we can,” Dr. Kelley says with that warm, reassuring smile she’s so good at. “While he will be unconscious most of the time for at least the next day or two, he will be very confused and disoriented while he’s awake until his blood sugar and metabolic rates get closer to normal. Moving him during that could be very traumatizing for him.” 

Pat nods doubtfully, then turns back to look at her son. Now, she holds his hand in both of hers, and Pete can practically see the same prayer in her mind that ran through his in the ambulance. He knows he should still be praying the same thing with the same intensity; nothing in his desire for Patrick to get through this should change. And, in truth, he does want Patrick to be OK, but he doesn’t know how to wish for that without wishing for everything to be like it was, when he knew what and who everything was in his life. When he _understood_ things. 

Or, he _thought_ he understood things. 

_And therein lies the rub,_ **_n’est-ce pas?_ ** _You actually want things to be like they_ _never were._

Pete shakes his head, trying to clear it, and then looks at the boy in the bed. 

Patrick. 

The Omega. 

The _stranger._

He hopes he can come around and just see him as Patrick again, without all the qualifiers. He knows it’s the right thing to do—forgive him—but he can’t help the twisting in his chest as he wonders what else Patrick has been lying about. 

****** 

Pat and the boys get rooms at a motel nearby. Pete, Joe, and Andy each luxuriate in long, hot showers before curling up in the queen beds, Pete and Joe in one, Andy in the other. Pete curls himself up around Joe, who puts an arm around Pete without hesitation or complaint. They’re quiet for a long time while Joe just holds his friend and waits for him to speak. 

“He fucking lied to us,” Pete grits out through his teeth. 

Andy groans in aggravation. “Pete, don’t start with the histrionics, please? We need to get some sleep tonight.” 

Joe waves a hand in the dim light. “Andy, this is a big deal. Let him get it off his chest.” 

Pete lifts his head. “I mean, aren’t you guys fucking angry at him? He _lied_ to us!” 

“A little, yeah,” Andy concedes. “I don’t know if it’s fully sunk in.” 

“Even so,” Joe adds, “he obviously had his reasons for hiding it.” 

“Yeah: he didn’t trust us,” Pete mutters. “I trusted _him_ , though, you know? I told him things. I told him _everything_ , and he bullshitted me about orientation not defining who you are with a straight goddamned face! He obviously doesn’t really believe that, or he wouldn’t be trying so hard to y’know, _not_ be an Omega.” 

Joe rubs circles on Pete’s back, trying to soothe him. “Pete, think about it for a minute. It’s not like the world is exactly a great place for Omegas.” 

“We could have protected him. I _did_ protect him.” Pete puts his head back down and listens to Joe’s rhythmic, soothing heartbeat. “I would have done anything for him.” 

“You _did_ do everything for him,” Andy amends. “And I have no doubt that when this is over, you’ll still do everything for him. You can’t help it.” 

Silence falls for a minute or so before Pete whispers, “I feel like I don’t know him anymore.” 

Joe gives him a squeeze and murmurs, “I get it, but I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” 

Pete sighs heavily. “I just can’t help wondering what else he hid. What else he said that he didn’t mean.” Joe just hums inquisitively. “Right before he passed out, Patrick said he loved me, and he kissed me. But what if he was just confused, or trying to throw up a smokescreen because I was asking what was wrong with him?” 

“Pete, don’t. Patrick’s been in love with you since he met you. That much is painfully obvious,” Joe says with a combination of fondness and mild annoyance. 

“You jealous, Trohman?” Pete asks playfully. 

Joe shakes his head. “Come on, dude. You two have spent so long dancing around each other, too afraid to say how you feel, but it’s been painfully obvious to everyone who _isn’t_ you that you’re both crazy about each other.” He pauses, sighing and staring at the ceiling. “Patrick’s gonna need you, Pete. He’s gonna be scared out of his mind, and you’re gonna have to step up for him.” 

“Why me?” Pete challenges. 

“Because you’re his Alpha, dude,” Andy says, like it should be obvious. “Whether or not you idiots have made anything official, you’re it for him. You’ve already been looking out for him all this time. You just have to keep it up.” 

Pete stays quiet a moment, trying to absorb this. “What if we really don’t know each other anymore?” 

Joe shrugs a shoulder. “Then this is your chance to get to know him again. Start over.” 

“Just do it in the morning,” Andy says emphatically. 

Pete lies awake for a long while after the other two fall asleep, wondering just how to do that. 

****** 

When they go back to the hospital in the morning, Patrick is awake and asking for Pat. 

She goes in the room first, and the boys follow. Joe and Andy slink back to the opposite end of the room so as not to frighten him. Pete is supposed to follow, but instead, he goes to the chair closest to the bed, curls up there, and stays quiet. 

“Mom?” Patrick asks. His eyes are wide, hopeful, and glassy. “Mom?” he says again, like he can’t believe it. 

Pat goes to the bed and sits down. “I’m here, baby,” she says, taking his hand and smoothing his hair. 

“Mom, I don’t feel good,” he complains, the voice of a child. “I don’ wanna go to school.” He speaks slowly, words forming at half-speed as though he’s been drugged, and his voice is weak and a little raspy. “C’I stay home?” 

“Of course,” his mother replies, playing along. “You just rest and get better, OK?” 

Patrick sighs with relief. “’Kay.” He closes his eyes, then slowly opens them again. “When…” he takes a deep breath, swallows, and then drawls, “When I’m better, can Benny come over and we’ll camp out?” 

“We’ll see,” Pat replies, her voice trembling. “Let’s just take one thing at a time, OK?” 

“I miss him,” Patrick sighs, his own voice cracking. “I feel like… like I haven’t seen him in a long time.” Tears well up in his eyes and roll down his cheeks. 

Pat runs her hand over her son’s forehead again. “I know, baby.” 

He looks around suddenly. “Where am I? Where’s dad?” 

“You’re in the hospital, Rick,” Pat says softly. “Your dad… couldn’t get here right now.” She looks helplessly at Doctor Kelley, who leans in the doorway. The doctor motions for her to keep going. Pat nods and continues, “I’ll have to go back to work soon, too, but your friends are going to keep you company for me when I’m not here, OK?” 

Patrick’s eyes are already closed, but then suddenly, they open again. “Don’ be mad, Mum,” he slurs. 

“What? I’m not—” Pat begins, but her son cuts her off. 

“Pete was here, but... just for a minute. And I had all my homework done, I promise. He said he got us some shows this summer. Isn’t that rad?” He smiles at her, shining blue eyes full of hope for a summer that’s already half over, though he doesn’t seem to know it. 

Pat nods slowly. “That’s wonderful, honey.” 

With that, Patrick drifts back off with a small smile playing on his colorless lips. 

It occurs to Pete to wonder who Benny is, and why he’s never met the guy, but figures it could be a cousin, or even Patrick’s imaginary friend, for all he knows. 

Pat stays that day and the next, as do all three boys. Patrick wakes up at random intervals to grill his mother about where he is, what happened to him, does his dad know he’s sick, how will he make up his homework, what about the rest of the shows for the tour—a mish-mash of past and present, coherent and not. He asks about “Benny” a couple of more times, and Pete can’t help noticing Pat is incredibly vague in her answers. 

But when Patrick first recognizes Pete, it throws the Alpha in a way he didn’t expect at all. 

“Hey,” Patrick says softly, a quizzical frown on his face. “Aren’t you Pete from Arma?” 

Pete’s heart simultaneously clenches and shatters in his chest. He’s relieved he still has a place in Patrick’s scattered memories, disappointed that it’s not current so that he can’t ask about their last interaction, and angry that he has to pretend the last forty-eight hours didn’t happen, that he isn’t hopelessly in love and totally heartbroken. 

“Uh, yeah,” he replies, unfolding his legs and turning to face Patrick more fully. “And, uh, I brought Joe and Andy, too.” He points toward the two boys at the end of the room. 

Patrick’s eyes move languidly to follow Pete’s gesture, and his face brightens when he sees Joe and Andy leaning against the wall. “Hey!” he exclaims. “What are you guys all doing here?” 

Joe and Andy smile nervously, then look to Pete to come up with an answer. Pete chuckles, uncomfortable, and says, “Um, we came to check on a friend, and we heard there was, um, a fan of ours here, so... we decided to stop in and say ‘hi’, so,” he pauses, then waves and finishes lamely, “hi.” 

“That’s so rad,” Patrick murmurs, looking back and forth in awe at the three boys, as though he hadn’t spent the last six weeks sharing a dirty van and countless club dates with them. He looks over to Pete and says, “You write such awesome lyrics.” 

Pete feels his face heat up. He remembers the first time Patrick complimented his lyrics, when the three of them were in Patrick’s basement, and Pete was trying to decide if this cute little dork was good enough to be in a band with him. 

_How woef_ _ully backward I had things,_ Pete thinks, then just mumbles, “Thanks.” 

The five of them chat a bit about Patrick’s interest in music, about how he’s doing in school (with some helpful prodding by Pat), and the boys mention that they’re looking at doing a new project, something different from Arma. Patrick’s eyes light up. 

“Hey, I write music,” he says. “Pretty pop- and R&B-heavy, but...” He trails off. “You probably wouldn’t like it.” 

“Patrick, you insult us!” Pete declares dramatically, a hand splayed on his chest. “Our tastes are incredibly well-rounded! I bet we’d like whatever you made.” 

Joe snickers. “Are you employing the Royal ‘We’ here, Pete?” 

The lot of them all burst into laughter, and Pete’s chest feels lighter, less constricted for it. Patrick suddenly starts wheezing and coughing, but it passes quickly, and Pat gives him some water. 

“Are you OK, Rick?” she asks. 

He nods, eyes closed, then says, “I think I’m tired.” He yawns to punctuate this, then mumbles, “Will you tell Pete I’m sorry?” 

Pete moves to say something, but Pat holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Sorry for what, honey?” 

But Patrick’s already asleep, breathing even and lips slightly parted. Pete looks at him for a minute, willing his eyes not to fill with tears, and it absolutely does not work. 

Joe and Andy move to embrace him, one on each side, and Pete allows himself the comfort of his band, his best friends. 

A thought floats up into his weary mind without prompting: _My pack_. 

From that moment, Pete knows that he can’t stay mad at Patrick. He surrenders to his instincts, and lets them swallow up his anger and doubts like they were melted ice cream. 

_Yes,_ _my_ _pack, and Patrick’s part of it. It doesn’t matter if_ _he screwed up_ _. He’s pack. He's_ ** _ours_** _._ _He’s_ _my_ _Omega, and I’m his Alpha. He’s_ **_mine_** _, and I have to take care of him._


	9. Chapter 9

Pete announces to Joe and Andy what he’s just decided, being the Very Good Alpha™ that he is. Joe gives a look that somehow shows sympathy and pride at the same time, and Pete thinks that Joe will probably be the best mom ever. Andy shakes his head and chuckles softly. 

“I was wondering when you’d finally realize that, dude,” the other Alpha says, and his expression is affectionate but also says _you’re kind of an idiot_ , and Pete thinks that Andy already has this dad thing nailed. 

_Duh, they’ve basically had to be my fucking parents for years_ , he reminds himself with a rueful smirk and an eyeroll. 

“Anyway,” Pete says pointedly, indicating that mocking him was not on his agenda at this point, “I’ll stay here with him after Pat leaves, so you two can go sleep or get food or whatever you need to do that’s not here.” 

They both nod their agreement. “You’ll need to get out of this room at some point, too, you know,” Joe reminds him. 

Pete sighs and looks at Patrick. “On some level I know that, but... what if he wakes up and I’m not here?” He turns uncertain eyes on his two best friends. 

Andy puts a hand on his shoulder. “We can be here when you’re not,” he says, as though he is talking to a small child. Pete nods, but he knows the doubt is showing on his face; he doesn’t want to be away from Patrick at all. When Pat says she’s only able to stay one more night, Pete doesn’t get how she could ever even think of leaving her son here. 

Out of the blue, though, realization slaps him in the face, and he leaps from his chair. “Excuse me a minute,” he says, trying to sound casual, but not caring particularly if he doesn’t. He runs to the pay phone, digs some change out of his pockets, and calls home. 

When Pete returns to the room, he announces: “Mom, you’re staying here as long as this takes. My parents are going to help with your accommodations.” 

She looks like she’s going to burst into tears, but she manages to choke them back. “Thank you, Pete,” she murmurs. “That’s very generous of you and your family. I’ll--” 

Pete puts one hand up and cuts her off. “Please, don’t even think of offering to pay us back.” He sits next to her on the bed and takes her hands. “I mean, we're a family, right? All of us,” he amends as he looks at Joe and Andy. “We’d all do anything for each other, and I know ‘Trick would say the same, were he in any position to. Besides, I gotta stay on your good side, right?” He chuckles weakly. 

Pat just gives him another one of those stupendous mom hugs and sniffles against his hoodie. “You're all permanently on my good side.” She pulls back and looks at the three of them. “You invited him into your lives and your band, and you’ve given him a way to do what he enjoys most. I’ve never seen him so happy as he’s been this last year.” 

“I’ll stay here at night, though, so he’s not alone. I signed him in here, so that should be OK,” Pete informs her. 

“You... signed him in here?” she asks suspiciously. “And why was that?” 

Pete sighs and looks down. “Because he’s an Omega and he’s underage. They needed a parent or an Alpha, and you weren’t here, obviously, so... I signed as his Alpha.” When Pat’s eyes widened in shock, he held up a hand. “Oh, they didn’t tell me he was an Omega, just that it was because he was underage. I mean, I, uh, I knew there was something they weren’t telling me, but I would never have guessed...” He trailed off and left the rest unsaid: _that he was lying to us. To_ ** _me_ ** _._

“I know, honey,” she says, a sympathetic look on her face. “And I know he’s sorry for what he’s put you all through.” 

“Why did he go to all this trouble? Why didn’t he just tell us? He had to know we were trustworthy.” He tries to keep the heartbreak out of his voice, but it must how on his face, because Pat squeezes his arm warmly. 

“Best to let him tell you his own story,” she pronounces sagely. Pete nods in both understanding and disappointment. 

****** 

Over the next couple of days, Patrick’s improvement seems glacially slow to Pete, Joe, Andy and Patricia, but Dr. Kelley seems very encouraged by how much less he’s sleeping, how much more animated and talkative he is, and the fact that he’s been supplementing the IV nutrients with actual food a couple of times a day. 

It feels like nothing will be better until Patrick remembers them, though. Dr. Kelley assures them that it’s simply a side effect of nutrient depletion, particularly glucose. If he’d been in any worse shape when he came in, she says, he’d have started having seizures, and might have suffered permanent brain damage. The very thought brings tears to Pete’s eyes. Dr. Kelley reminds him that his memory is still mostly intact, recent history notwithstanding, and that’s a very good sign that the rest will come back as his other organs recover. 

Pete barely sleeps the first two nights, curled up on the little bench-loveseat-thing near the window, listening to the steady _beep-beep-beep_ of the monitor, but on the third, his body succumbs to exhaustion, and he finally drifts off, the rhythm of Patrick’s heart lulling him along. 

He’s not sure how long he’s out when he hears his name in a hoarse whisper. 

“Pete?” 

He scrunches up his face, wipes his eyes with the fingers and thumb of one hand, and yawns. 

“Pete?” It comes again. 

This time, Pete’s eyes fly open and he lifts himself up on his elbow. “Patrick?” he whispers. 

“Pete,” Patrick says again, a little weakly. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” he mumbles, then gets up and makes sure Patrick can see him. “Hey.” 

“What happened?” Patrick asks, swallowing thickly. 

A million possible answers go through Pete’s mind, but he decides the best bet is another question. “Well, what do you remember?” He hands Patrick the cup of water on the bedside table. 

Patrick takes a sip through the straw and frowns. Pete’s heart flutters to see the little lines that form on his pale forehead as he does it. “Um, we were at the club, and you stopped me outside the bathroom. We fought, and... um... I think you...” He trails off and shakes his head. “Nah, I must have imagined the rest.” 

“No, no you did _not_ ,” Pete corrects him emphatically. “I said I loved you, and I kissed you, and you said it to me, too. Don’t you fucking dare try to take it back.” His voice wavers and his eyes sting, but if there was ever a hill to die on, it’s this one. 

“OK, I won’t,” Patrick assures him in a way that suggests he thinks Pete might have gone completely insane. Staring at the at the contraption in his chest, he inquires, “So, what happened to me, how long have I been here, and what on God’s green Earth is this thing?” 

Pete takes a deep breath and says, “OK. It’s coming up on the sixth day, that is a huge-ass IV to get medication and nutrients into your system as quickly as possible, and... a bunch of your organs all but shut down because... youwereoverdosingonyoursuppressants.” He pushes these last words out all together, afraid that he’ll choke on them if he doesn’t. 

Patrick’s eyes go wide. “My... oh, God, I... so, like, you... Oh shit. I was gonna... I was gonna tell you after...” He covers his face with his hands and groans. “Oh, fuck, the tour!” 

Pete shushes him. The grey light of pre-dawn indicates that it’s still much too early for making a lot of noise, and it's also probably not good for Patrick to get himself too worked up in his current condition. 

“Oh, sorry, but, I mean, all the dates we had left! What about those shows?” Patrick looks up at Pete in abject terror. 

“Don’t worry about that. I had Andy cancel them.” Pete touches Patrick’s forearm. It still feels small and cold, but he’s relieved to be able to touch him without it seeming weird to a kid who doesn’t even remember him. “We can reschedule them. Maybe do an even bigger tour next summer with more dates.” 

Patrick doesn’t appear to be done worrying, however. “So, Andy and Joe know, too?” 

Pete nods again. “Yeah, we were all here when your mom met with the doctor, and they sat us all down and told us what happened.” 

“My mom? Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” He seems determined to test every possible octave of a whisper. 

“At the hotel. I’m here because... Well, because I signed you into this fine facility as your Alpha and representative in her temporary absence, and I thought it would be easier for me to stay here at night than for her.” Pete can’t help the way his chest puffs out just a little at the thought of being _Patrick’s Alpha_. 

Patrick’s smooth, young, smooth forehead creases again, and he says, “Hotel? Why does she need a hotel?” 

Pete can’t help noticing that erstwhile Beta doesn’t contradict Pete’s assertion of their status. “Because we’re still in Madison. It isn’t safe to move you while you’re still healing.” 

“And... you told the folks here you’re _my Alpha_ , did you?” Patrick cocks an eyebrow. 

“They wouldn’t admit you unless a parent or an Alpha signed for you. Totally backward policy, I know, but they just told me it was because you’re underage. Your mom was the one who told me... that you’re an Omega.” Pete isn’t sure why he’s so ashamed to say that to Patrick, considering it’s the truth, but it still feels invasive, somehow, to say what he knows when Patrick wasn’t the one to tell him. 

Patrick closes his eyes and sighs heavily. “So, six days, huh?” His voice shakes a little. When he looks at Pete again, the Alpha can tell he’s trying to school his expression into neutrality, but his eyes betray his fear. 

“Yeah. You’ve been pretty out of it, mostly because there wasn’t enough glucose in your system. I think that was because once your adrenal glands started shutting down, that sort of had a domino effect, and killed your appetite. But I know the glucose shortage is why your memory was so foggy.” 

Patrick nods, and tears start rolling down his cheeks. He turns his face a little away and softly says, “I’m sorry. For everything.” His breath hiccups, and he brings his hands up to his face again. “I screwed up the whole tour. I... I almost fucking died, all because I just didn’t want to be a stupid, weak, useless goddamned... _Omega_.” Although he’s still whispering, he grits out this last word with so much venom and disdain, Pete has to keep himself from recoiling. Patrick wipes his nose with the back of his hand and hugs himself, curling up to be as small as possible. “I... God, I’m just so fucking sorry, Pete.” 

Pete thinks for a moment, not really sure which emotion to go with in response to that. He takes the middle ground. “I know you are, ‘Trick, and we’re gonna work everything out.” 

Patrick meets Pete’s gaze slowly, as if any sudden movements mike make the Alpha disappear. A mixture of surprise and hope lights Patrick’s blue-green eyes. “We are?” 

“Yeah, we are. We’re gonna get you better, take you back home, and then we’ll... just... go from there.” Pete swallows thickly, hating the neutrality of his words, but knowing he needs to give Patrick some space to decide how he wants to move forward. This has been _his_ secret, _his_ pain, and yes, _his_ misguided actions, and Pete can’t lead him by the nose here. “One thing at a time, you know.” 

The Omega is suddenly very, very interested in his knees, which he still hugs against his chest. “What about us?” he asks, his voice barely audible. 

Pete shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean,” he takes a deep breath and tries again, “What do you want to do?” Patrick tilts his head awkwardly so he’s only watching Pete with one eye, but he doesn’t speak, so Pete begins rambling. “Look, I know I’m, like, the thing that probably had you trying to hide all these years. I mean, not me personally, but, like, me as an Alpha, and I don’t know how to make you be not afraid of me. Well, that is, uh, I mean, not _make_ you. I wouldn’t ever make you do anything. What I meant to say was—” 

Patrick cuts him off. “Stop, Pete.” He lifts his head to look the Alpha in the eyes. “I know all that.” 

“Then why? Why didn’t you trust me?” Pete sits on the bed now, his legs suddenly untrustworthy. He's wavering again. “How could you lie to me all this time?” 

“It started out that I wasn’t sure I could trust any of you,” Patrick starts softly. “By the time I knew I could, I knew I was pretty well in love with you, and I... I just couldn’t bear the thought of telling you and having you hate me. I kept promising myself I’d tell you next time I saw you, and then the next time, and then the next time, and the more I waited, the worse I knew it would be, and the more afraid I got. When you told me about the tour, I told myself I was protecting the band by not telling any of you, because we probably wouldn’t get as many gigs or be taken as seriously with an Omega for a lead singer, and if none of you knew, none of you could slip up and blow my cover. I decided I’d definitely tell you after this tour, once we got our name out there and earned some real fans, so we’d have more standing for the future, you know?” He pauses expectantly, and Pete shrugs and gives a half-nod. “And all those things might have been true, but really, I just didn’t want to tell you because that would make this real. I wouldn’t be able to... _not_ be an Omega anymore. And I still was terrified of having you hate me for lying. But, y’know, it was mostly the whole self-loathing part.” Patrick tacks this last part on almost as an afterthought, then goes back to staring at his knees. 

Pete thinks on this for a minute or two, while Patrick drums his fingers on his upper arms. Finally, he whispers, “I’m sorry.” Patrick winces and hugs his legs tighter. Pete continues, “I’m sorry for whatever happened that made you so afraid, and for everything you’ve been through trying to protect yourself from... whatever it is.” He puts a hand on one of Patrick’s, and the younger boy studies the gesture for a few seconds before repositioning so Pete’s fingers fell between his own. 

“You didn’t do it,” Patrick murmurs, eyes still transfixed on their hands. 

“I know. That wasn’t my point.” He wraps his fingers around Patrick’s hand, and Patrick closes his fingers as much as he can over Pete’s. 

“Will you...” Patrick pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “Will you sleep with me?” 

The Alpha just blinks in disbelief. “Well, um, I-I mean, I think they kinda frown on that here.” 

Patrick laughs, and Pete can’t help the way his heart lifts at the sound. “I just meant, like, would you lie next to me and hold me?” 

“Oh,” Pete breathes, “yeah, of course.” He climbs under the covers with the Omega and presses himself against the smaller boy’s back, like they did in the van. As soon as his arms are around Patrick’s body, they both give a contented sigh before their breathing falls into rhythm together. Patrick’s heart rate picked up a little at first, but Pete listens as it slows, and grins when Patrick holds on to Pete’s forearms. “So, does this mean you still... um, like, I mean, do you still...” 

“I still,” Patrick mumbles, his voice already drowsy. “I very much still.” 

“Me, too.” Pete’s mind is starting to drift, finally feeling safe enough to wander through the events last few days. Before he realizes what he’s saying, he blurts out, “Who’s Benny?” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am only now realizing that I basically gave Patrick the Omegaverse's answer to Addison's Disease. Oops?

Patrick freezes immediately. Pete can feel his whole body go rigid, his breathing nearly stop. 

“What?” the Omega spits. He turns his head back toward Pete a little, rolling his eyes to look behind him as much as he can. “What did you say?” 

Pete cringes and backs away a little. “I said, ‘Who’s Benny?’” He phrases the whole thing like a question, as if needing Patrick to verify it. 

Patrick rolls over to face his Alpha, his face luminescent in the eerie light coming in from the window. His eyes are like saucers. “How do you know about Benny?” 

“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking you.” Pete whispers, still holding his face away from Patrick’s a bit. 

“You know what I mean.” The weariness and exasperation comes through his hushed tone. “Why... why would you ask that? How would you even know that _name_?” 

“Well, I suppose I should have known you were hiding more shit from me,” Pete snaps before his brain can tell him not to. 

Patrick’s jaw clenches visibly. “Fuck you,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fuck you for thinking you can just...” He pauses, tears forming in his eyes. “You don’t just get to come tromping through every detail of my life now, demanding to know _everything_ I might not have told you.” He swallows hard, and Pete can’t help watching his Adam’s apple as he does it, but then tears start rolling across the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow. “You don’t just get to... to _have_ that.” 

The monitor informs Pete that Patrick’s heart rate and blood pressure are climbing steadily. That alarm is going to go off any second if Pete can’t think fast and try to calm him down. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to _have_ anything. I just... I just would like not to have any more secrets.” 

“No.” Patrick scrambles away from the Alpha and falls out of bed. He tries to get his feet under him, but his legs are weak, and he lands on his backside. He whines in pain as the motion pulls on the port in his chest, but he somehow manages to pull himself to his feet and take a backward step, one hand clutched over the port and furious eyes locked on Pete. “No. You can’t have this. I... I _can’t_.” 

“Jesus Christ, ‘Trick!” Pete yelps as he moves to sit on Patrick’s side of the bed, legs dangling to the floor. Patrick looks like he might flee any second, so he doesn’t try to get closer. The vitals on the monitor are coming down now. _Thank fuck._

The Omega takes another step backward anyway. His legs give again, and he ends up sitting on the linoleum tiles. He tries to get to his hands and knees and drops onto his hip. The IV pole has followed him, but the tubes are stretched taut, and Pete is sure Patrick is in considerable pain, even as he sits himself up and plants his palms on the floor behind him, knees bent and heels resting on the floor. 

“You’re... you’re just like the rest of them after all, huh?” he gasps out, breathing suddenly labored. The gauze over where his port sits is soaked with blood. “You just... want what you want from me, don’t you, _Alpha_?” The word drips with contempt. His head lists drunkenly in Pete’s direction. 

“You know I’m not, ‘Trick,” Pete admonishes, not even trying to disguise the hurt in his voice. He moves to try to help Patrick up, but he just leans away, tugging dangerously on the port again. He winces at that, but he doesn’t relax his position. 

“Then stop... rifling through my underwear drawer... trying to see all my... unmentionables.” His voice is angry and accusatory, but he's beginning to slur, and his eyes are lolling half-shut. Pete notes that Patrick’s heart rate and blood pressure are dropping much more quickly now. Patrick just keeps babbling. “You can’t have my... my treasures.” He begins to cry, and blood stains the hospital gown at the collar. “You can’t have him.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Pete leaps from the bed, picks Patrick up by his armpits, and tries to haul him to his feet. The Omega’s body is unhelpfully limp, but his arms seem to be working just fine, judging from the way he keeps trying to slap behind him at Pete’s head. 

“Lemme go,” he moans. He either can’t or won’t plant his feet so Pete can move him, so the Alpha changes tactics. He grabs Patrick around his abdomen with both arms, as though he’s giving the Heimlich. Patrick thrashes weakly and keeps issuing his mush-mouthed vitriol. “Lemme go, fuckin’ Alpha piece'o'shih. You ca’haff'me. You ca’fucki’haffus.” An elbow gets Pete in the ribs, and a heel catches his shin. It’s far from Jean-Claude Van Damme level stuff, but it’s still bone to bone, and it fucking hurts. 

Pete realizes he’s in over his head now, but he can’t reach the call button, so he just hollers as loud as he can, “I need help! Somebody help me, please!” 

A nurse comes running in. She takes one look at Pete holding the struggling Omega with an unmistakably helpless look on his face and yells for someone to bring the doctor. She gets her arms around Patrick’s legs and they stretch him out on the bed, but not without an errant swing of knuckles knocking Pete in the face, to go with his other new bruises. 

“Geh... away... fro’me...” Patrick pants. 

Tears fill Pete’s eyes. “No, Patrick, please come back. Please don’t leave me again.” The doctor arrives with two more nurses. The nurse who first arrived tells the last one in the door to take Pete outside, so she turns Pete by the shoulders and bodily guides him out into the hall. She asks him what happened, and Pete gives a very lightly edited recounting of events. The nurse nods, tells him to wait right where he is, and then goes back in to help the others. 

“Elevate his legs. I need 5cc of hydrocortisone STAT,” the doctor says in a thick Indian accent, and one of the nurses dashes out of the room and down the hall, then returns moments later with a syringe. The doctor continues directing the team around him, and sends the nurse away again for something else. After she brings whatever it is (Pete has stopped listening at this point), Patrick starts whimpering, obviously in pain. Pete wants more than anything to go to his Omega, to hold and kiss him and make sure he never feels any fear, pain, or even remote amount of mild annoyance ever again, but he also doesn’t want to frighten him any more than he already has. 

_Get away from me._ It feels like a dagger in his chest. Pete knows he won’t forget that moment for a very long time, if ever. 

Finally, finally, _fucking finally_ , the doctor comes out to talk to him. He’s almost as short as Pete, with bronze skin, short, carefully combed salt-and-pepper hair, and thick, wide hands that Pete thinks could probably crush his windpipe if they wanted to. His smile, however, is wide and warm. “Hello, Mr. Wentz. I am Dr. Sundaram."

They shake hands. “It’s just Pete, sir.” He tries to smile and be friendly, but doesn't know how successful he is. 

The doctor nods once. “Well, Pete, I am sure this was a very frightening thing for you, yes, but we are lucky this was a very simple thing. He went into a little bit of shock from his blood pressure getting so low when he tried to get up, but we elevated his legs and gave him some medicine that brought it back up. He also pulled a suture when he fell, and that is why you saw so much blood, but it looks much worse than it really is. I repaired this and gave him a nice, new dressing over it.” He smiles as he says this part. It’s clearly meant to be reassuring, but Pete can’t help thinking of a child who’s telling a parent about a new thing he just learned how to do, and he smiles back. He goes on, “He is resting comfortably now, so everything will be OK as long as he stays in bed.” 

“Is he sedated?” Pete asks. Some survival instinct inside him wants to know the risk of waking Patrick back up before he is back to being _Patrick_ instead of some scared, wild animal. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Dr. Sundaram says, shaking his head. “We cannot sedate a patient with this kind of problem, or his blood pressure will just drop and start the whole thing over again. Don’t worry, though, Pete. I don’t think you will wake him up. As soon as we got his heart pumping and his blood pressure regular, he just... what is the word, ‘conked’ right out from exhaustion.” 

He turns to leave, but then comes back and takes Pete’s hands. “Do not worry, Pete. This kind of episode is quite common in patients who are recovering from an adrenal insufficiency such as this. He will still recover, as long as he continues to _rest_.” He emphasizes this word with a fluid roll of the ‘r’. After a moment’s consideration, he adds, “And don’t you blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done, and this does not make you a bad Alpha.” Pete’s face must show the complete confusion he feels at having his thoughts pulled straight from his head, because Dr. Sundaram explains, “I have seen many cases like this since the Changewave, my friend. When the Omega is sick, the Alpha wants to care for them so badly, but you cannot do everything yourself. You are doing the best thing for your Omega by asking for help and getting him the medical attention he needs. That is what a good Alpha does.” 

Pete laughs weakly. “OK, Doc. Thank you.” 

The doctor gives Pete’s hands another squeeze, and then he walks off. 

Pete tiptoes into the room. Even though he’s wearing socks and his steps make absolutely no noise, he’s terrified of disturbing Patrick. As the good doctor promised, Patrick is, ostensibly, asleep. His legs are elevated, and his lips are parted slightly. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, and the monitor beeps in perfect time, because of course it does.

 _Six days of progress down the drain_ , Pete thinks miserably, and he spends the rest of whatever quiet hours he might have praying to The Great Whomever Might Be Out There Listening that he’s wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

When Patricia arrives later that morning, Pete is half-asleep sitting up on the cushioned bench. His blanket hangs on by one shoulder, and his head has drooped all the way forward. Pat’s neck aches just looking at the poor boy, and she’s just about to wake him when he jerks his head up and looks at her in a panic. His eyes dart immediately to Patrick, still ostensibly asleep. The monitor beeps away, and his vitals are even better now than they were earlier. He then looks back to Pat, eyes welling up with tears, and gestures with his chin toward the door. She nods, face full of questioning concern, and they go into the hallway to talk. 

Pete tells her the events of earlier that morning as best he can between hiccupping breaths and sniffles. “I... I swear I didn’t mean to hurt him, or anything, Pat. Please don’t hate me.” 

“Oh, honey,” she coos, taking him into her arms. The young Alpha cries, loud and ugly, into her shoulder. “Of course I don’t hate you. You couldn't have known that would happen.” 

“That’s what the doctor said, too. I wish that made me feel better, but, God, he was just so mad at me.” He pulls back and looks at her. “Patrick was... he was _mean_ . He said I was just like all the other Alphas, and that I was trying to... take things from him, or hurt him, or something, and told me to get away from him. He _hit_ me.” More tears roll down his cheeks, and he doesn’t even bother wiping at them. “He hates me.” 

Pat kisses his forehead. “Don’t say that.” 

“Why not? Maybe he should. Maybe I am just another shitty Alpha. I can’t even look after him right.” Pete digs the heel of his hand into one eye. 

“Stop that right now,” Pat chides, shaking him a little. “Patrick does not hate you. I don’t think he could hate you if he wanted to. He was just delirious. He didn’t know what he was saying.” 

Pete gives a disbelieving little scoff. “ _Or_ ,” he begins emphatically, “maybe, it was like when you’re really drunk and you can’t help but say all the true stuff in your head. You didn’t hear him.” He lifts his head and looks at her. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me.” 

“No, I didn’t. But I know my son, I know you, and I know you-and-him.” Pat smooths Pete’s bangs out of his eyes. “He’s loved you more than anything ever since he met you. I was skeptical at first, because you’re so much older than he is, but I’ve seen how you are with him. You’ve gotten to know him better than probably anyone other than me, Pete. You know everything from how he takes his coffee to when he’s too mad to talk and you have to leave him alone and let him stew. You obviously truly love him and care about him, and whether he likes to admit it or not, that’s exactly what he needs, but he’s stubborn. That was one of the other reasons he didn’t tell you about being an Omega. He didn’t want you and Joe and Andy to think he was weak, or helpless.” 

“'Helpless' is absolutely the last word I’d have ever used to describe Patrick.” Pete shakes his head and looks back toward the door. 

“That’s why you should be his Alpha,” Pat says, low and furtive, like it’s a secret. Pete stares in amazement at Patricia Stumph. He’s known for a minute that she approves of his feelings for Patrick, but hearing her give her blessing like that, out loud, saying she thinks he’ll actually be a good Alpha... he feels like his heart is going to burst. He barrels in and practically tackles her with a classic Wentzian bear hug, and she returns the embrace with a laugh. 

Dr. Kelley comes to round on Patrick, and thankfully, Pete and Pat are there to intercept her and let her know that Patrick doesn’t really remember much about his episode, and they don’t want to upset him again. 

The doctor nods and tells them she understands completely. “Why don’t we go check on him?” When they get into the room, Patrick is awake and struggling to get comfortable. Dr. Kelley bids him a friendly, “Good morning, Patrick.” 

“Why are my legs like this?” he asks, panting helplessly as he tries to reach the controller for the bed, which has tumbled out of his reach. 

Pete hurries over, lowers the bottom half of the bed, and raises the upper half so Patrick is sitting up. “Oh, um, well, your blood pressure dropped last night, so they had to elevate your legs to bring it back up again.” He shoots a helpless look at Dr. Kelley, who just keeps smiling. 

Patrick frowns and hums pensively. “I don’t remember that.” 

Thankfully, the good doctor chimes in. “Well, it’s a lot like when you were first brought in. This instance wasn’t quite as serious as that one, thankfully, but it will still cause the same type of confusion, if not necessarily as long or as severe.” Pete prays that this will answer all of Patrick’s questions. 

Apparently, though, there is one more. “What happened to your face?” Patrick reaches up to touch the red mark on Pete’s cheek, which will likely become a bruise in the next day or two. 

Pete opens his mouth, then almost closes it again, before finally coming up with something. “I fell last night on the way to the bathroom. Y’know, socks, linoleum, and half-sleepwalking are a bad combination.” He chuckles a little and hopes it sounds convincing. 

Patrick shakes his head. “I must have really been out cold. I didn’t hear that, either.” 

“Well, your body needs a lot of rest to get itself back to zero,” Dr. Kelley intones. “How are you feeling today?” 

“Tired,” the Omega sighs, and scrubs his hands over his face. “And my head feels like that scene in Total Recall on the surface of Mars, where their heads are expanding, y'know?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Pete answers, like it should be obvious. “That’s a classic.” 

“What’s a classic? I need to decide whether I’m ‘pro’ or ‘con’,” a new voice joins in. The three of them turn to see Joe sauntering in, followed by Andy. 

Patrick smiles a little. “Total Recall.” 

Joe nods sagely. “Ah, yes, definitely. The hooker with the three boobs is the best part.” 

“Actually, It's the scene where Arnold is disguised as the redheaded lady at customs,” Andy argues. “That, or when they finally meet Kuato and he grew out of Gordie LaChance’s dad’s stomach..”

Pete shakes his head. “Nice ‘Stand By Me’ cross-reference, but we were leaning toward the parts directly on the surface of Mars.” 

Joe’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah! Where their heads swell up all huge and their eyes bug out and then...” He puts his hands beside his head and flares out his fingers while making an ‘explosion’ sound. “So rad.” 

Andy shakes his head sagely. “You’re all wrong, but that’s OK. I’m comfortable with being much smarter than all of you.”

They all laugh at that, and while Dr. Kelley is checking Patrick’s vitals and such, Pete feels a hand gently cover his, and he turns to see the Omega looking at him with... _something_ in his eyes. Pete can’t place it, but it feels meaningful and important. He smiles at the younger boy and laces their fingers together. Patrick pulls his upper lip between his teeth and looks thoughtful. Pete wants to ask what’s on his mind, but Joe pulls them back into the conversation with a warning to “stop being disgusting”. 

The rest of the day goes on like that. They trade quotes from their favorite movies, debate best albums from various bands, and so on. Even Pat shares some opinions on her favorite movies, and the boys are surprised at how well-versed in 80s comedies she is. 

“Well, where do you think Rick got it? He was only just born in 1984!” she jabs, and when Patrick smirks at her in fond annoyance, she gives it right back, and Pete can’t help noticing the similarities in their appearances, mostly around the sparkling, multicolored eyes. 

Eventually, everyone starts saying their goodbyes for the night and making their way to the door. Pete gives Patrick a kiss on the temple and promises he’ll be right back. Patrick closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose, relishing both the sensation and Pete’s musk. 

Out in the hall, Pete trades low-fives and hugs with Joe and Andy before they walk off, leaving Pete alone with Patricia. 

She plasters a smile on her face, so Patrick won’t be alerted to anything about their conversation. “Are you gonna tell him?” 

The Alpha shrugs and smiles back. “Maybe, but not right now. I don’t want to upset him and have that cause another episode, you know?” 

Pat casts a glance at her son, so small in the hospital bed, watching them talk. She blows him a kiss, at which he rolls his eyes and blushes, and then she hugs Pete. “Take good care of my baby.” 

“Always,” Pete whispers, then goes back into the room with Patrick and closes the door. 

Before he can even turn back around, Patrick’s voice startles him. “Why did you lie?” 

Pete jumps and whirls around. His feet nearly slip out from under him for real, but he manages to steady himself against the door. “Jesus,” he gasps, a hand splayed on his chest as he catches his breath. “What do you mean?” He reaches over and flips off the light. 

From his hospital bed, Patrick regards Pete serenely. There’s no scorn or accusation in his tone or his facial expression. “Look, I don’t remember everything, but I do remember fighting with you, and I remember panicking and falling out of bed. Why did you lie to them, and why did you lie to me?” 

_Shit. I’ll take ‘Hypocrisy’ for $400, Alex,_ Pete thinks. “I was afraid to tell you the truth, and I figured maybe I didn’t have to, since you didn’t seem to remember any of it. I didn’t want to risk upsetting you more than I did last night, and having the whole thing happen all over again. And if we had to discuss any of it, I really didn’t want to do it with everyone here. I know you don’t like everyone worrying about you and fawning all over you. But I didn’t lie to your mom. I told her everything.” 

Patrick looks like he wants to rebut at first, but then gives a conciliatory nod. “Well, OK, fine, I definitely don’t like everyone freaking out over me, but... what ‘whole thing’?” 

Pete sighs heavily as he sits down on the bed. “Are you sure you want to know?” Patrick nods. “OK, but I warned you.” From there, Pete gives the basic rundown of what happened, and the younger boy’s face falls further and further as the story goes on. 

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” He hangs his head and hunches his shoulders, as though he were trying to shrink into himself and disappear. 

“Don’t worry about it. It was nothing.” Pete tries to sound dismissive. 

“But I hurt you.” The Omega reaches a pale, soft hand up to touch Pete’s cheek, where the new mark is, very gingerly.

Pete takes the hand from his face and holds it in both of his own. “You were sick, honey. You didn’t know what you were doing. And, like I said, this is no big deal.” 

“Maybe not that, but, everything else...” Patrick trails off and heaves a sigh. He closes his hand around Pete’s, pulls him closer, and kisses him very softly on the lips. “I’m sorry, Pete. I’m supposed to be able to trust you and, like, let you in, y’know?”

Pete responds to this by waggling his eyebrows, leaving the double-entendre hanging in the air. A voiceless huff of laughter escapes through Patrick’s nose, and he smiles and shakes his head. _Still my same old Pete_ , he thinks, and looks into calico eyes, somehow both amber and green in the dim light from the hall outside. Something slides into place in his brain, something about comfort and trust and just... _Pete_. He takes a deep breath, and makes a decision.

“Ben Fitzgerald was my best friend when I was younger,” he murmurs. Pete draws in a sharp breath and goes totally rigid, almost holding his breath. Patrick takes a moment to collect his thoughts, and then he continues: “He lived two houses down from me, and we were completely inseparable. His mom called us ‘Frick and Frack’.” He smiles ruefully. “The two of us were both on the small side, shy, and nerdy, so, of course, we got plenty of shit from bigger kids, more popular kids, mostly Alphas, you know.” He shrugs. “Anyway, we used to talk about how we always hoped we’d end up being Alphas, too, so maybe the others would finally leave us alone. Well, freshman year, Benny had his first heat. He was out of school for a week. When he came back, he was... different. Not, like, a different person, or anything, but he was, like, ‘prettier’, I guess. His skin was smooth and bright, his hair was thicker and glossier, his hips were wider. But I only knew about that ‘cause Benny wore track pants for, like, two straight weeks until he could buy new jeans.” Patrick pauses and thinks, trying to pick up the thread of his story. “There were these three boys on the Varsity football team—Alphas, of course—who went from just bullying him to basically sexually harassing him. Between classes, at lunch, study hall, literally any time Benny wasn’t in a class with a teacher standing right there, these boys would be all over him, telling him how good he smelled, how pretty he was, and how he belonged on... um, in certain positions, only doing certain things for Alphas. You get the picture.” He looks at Pete hopefully, asking silently if he does, indeed, get the picture, and Pete nods. “Benny did his best to ignore it, but I said I wanted to tell someone, get some kind of help. He said no, that it would only make things worse. And, I mean, it’s not like that wasn’t usually true, but this was different, more serious. At least, I thought it was. So he just kept trying not to react to the things they said, but that didn’t help, either, because then they said he was an uppity little bitch for ignoring his... ‘superiors’, the ones he was supposed to ‘answer to’, all that. 

“Then, one day, he stayed after school for... something, I don’t know. Chess Club, maybe, or to make up a quiz he missed. Anyway, that meant the place was pretty deserted when he was leaving, and those boys, they grabbed him. They carried him off into the woods behind the football field, and they...” Patrick stops to wipe the tears off his face. “They...” He shakes his head violently. 

Pete squeezes Patrick’s hand and leans over to rest his left temple against Patrick’s right one. “Hey, it’s OK. That’s all over now, and I’m here.”

Comfort and relief wash over him. Pete has never, ever done anything to hurt him, and he never will. As much as Patrick knows this, admitting what happened to Benny makes it… _real_ in a way he’s never wanted to face, which is why he’s never said it out loud himself. But he also knows that as long as Pete is around, he never really has to face anything alone again. So, he squeezes his eyes shut and makes the words come out. “They beat him up and raped him.” 

“Oh, ‘Trick, I’m so sorry.” Pete’s eyes sting with tears as he pulls back a bit. 

Patrick clears his throat. “Um, after, y’know,” he rolls his wrist, and Pete nods, “they just left him on the ground in the woods and walked away. Benny managed to, like, put himself together, mostly, and get back to the school, and one of the teachers called an ambulance. He was in the hospital for almost a week recovering from his injuries.”

“What happened to those boys?” Pete cuts in, anger tinging his words. “Please tell me _something_ happened to them: jail, severe beatings, an unfortunate run-in with an unskilled chainsaw-juggler?” 

“Don’t interrupt,” Patrick scolds fondly, a smile lightening the pure sorrow in his eyes, even if only just a bit. “I’m getting to that.” Pete mimes zipping his lips. “Benny’s parents wanted to press charges, and he did a rape kit and everything, but the boys used condoms, so there wasn’t gonna be enough physical evidence to convict. Plus, they all came from families with plenty of money for fancy lawyers who specialize in getting rich Alphas out of trouble.”

Pete makes an ugly, barking noise. “I think you mean ‘slimy’ lawyers. I wish I’d known you then. My dad would have chewed them up and spit them out.” 

“It probably wouldn’t have changed anything,” Patrick laments. “The Fitzgeralds decided they needed to move away so Benny could start fresh, and obviously not go back to school with the boys who had assaulted him. Benny didn’t know where they could go that at least someone wouldn’t know who he was and what had happened to him. He felt like he was ruined. Like, permanently stained, or something. Like everyone would just see a big, fat ‘R’ on his chest all the time.” He starts crying again, and he sniffles and wipes his nose with his wrist. “The day after the court hearing, Benny killed himself.” He crumples and buries his face in his hands. “I shoulda helped him. I shoulda told someone, like I wanted to. I shoulda done _something._ ” He brings his hands away and looks at Pete miserably, his face splotched red and his eyes swollen. “He was my best friend, Pete. I should have saved him.” 

“There was nothing you could have done.” Pete moves to sit beside the Omega, and he puts his arm around him. “You couldn’t have known it would go that far.” He kisses Patrick’s sweaty pate and murmurs into his hair, “It’s not your fault, baby.” 

Patrick inhales Pete’s scent and feels his heart rate slowing. “And to make matters, worse, about a month after that—” 

***** 

_Patrick wakes up tangled in his sweaty top sheet. His ass is wet, his dick is rock hard and tingling, and he’s burning hot all over._

_He knows what’s happening, and he screams in terror._

_His mother comes barging into his room and reels backward at the cloying odor of Omega pheromones mixed with sweaty teenage boy._

_“Oh, honey,” she sighs, because she knows what this means, just as well as her son does._

_“I’m sorry, Mom,” Patrick whines, because he knows he’s let her down. He’s condemned them both to a lifetime of fear and monthly humiliations._

_“It’s OK, Rick. I’ll be right back.” She backs out of the room, and Patrick feels his usual trains of thought derailing, becoming secondary to the thrum in his temples and low in his belly to_ **_matefuckhavepupsmatefuckhavepups_ ** _. His eyes roll back and he flops against his pillow. Distantly, he thinks he hears water running. He desperately wants to touch himself; he’s sure if he could just get his hand down the front of his shorts, he’d feel so much better._ _Everything_ _would just feel so much better..._

_Some part of his brain reminds him his mother is probably coming back any second, so his incredibly insistent dick will have to wait._ **_Just a couple more minutes_ ** _, he tells himself. Instead of listening to that small, but still reasonable, part of his brain, his dick decides he can just roll over onto his stomach._

_The friction feels so good, so fucking heavenly, just exactly what he needs. He gives in and just starts thrusting against his mattress, making noises he would be embarrassed about if he were at all sane and not lost in a maelstrom of hormones and pheromones._

_His mother walks back into the room to find Patrick humping his mattress and moaning loudly, the backside of his shorts completely soaked through. Instead of even attempting to touch him, she tries saying his name to get his attention. He makes a ragged, seemingly frustrated sound._

_“Honey, you need to get up. Here, let me help you.” She scoops her arms under his body, around his chest, and pulls him off of the bed and onto his feet, more or less._

_Patrick chuckles deliriously and says, “I am up, apparently.” He looks down at his crotch, where the head of his weeping prick is protruding from opening in his shorts. He waves at it and says a high-pitched little ‘hello’._

_“Come on,” Patricia groans as she tries to guide her son out of the room and down the hall. “Work with me, here, Rick.” He moans again, and she realizes he is helping just about as much as he can at the moment._

_“’M tryin to,” he mumbles._

_Patricia gets one of Patrick’s arms around her shoulders and starts pulling him to the bathroom. She’s drawn a bath of cool water, and she literally has to take his feet, one by one, and place them in the tub (cursing when he kicks her in the nose at one point, because ‘it tickles’) before he seems to get with the program. He sits down slowly and sighs contentedly._

_She tells him she’ll be back in half an hour, and then leaves him there while she changes his sheets and makes him something to eat. Patrick uses the time to stroke himself off four times in a row, and Patricia studiously pretends she doesn’t hear him._

_Feeling a little calmer, he sits in the filthy water, collects what little of his strength he can muster, and manages to stand up. He opens the drain, and then runs a cold shower to get himself clean. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering, honestly, since he’s in for several days of this, but it just feels so nice to get the sweat, cum, and grime off of him that he just goes with it._

_He also cries, loud and ugly, when his half-hard dick begins waking up_ _again_ _._

_The week goes on like that, with Patrick practically helpless and his mother having to keep him clean and fed while trying to witness as little as possible of her son’s activities. He apologizes to her dozens of times, maybe hundreds, and she just keeps saying that it’s OK, it’s all gonna be OK._

_When he finally comes out of it and he’s back to his senses, he says to his mother, “It’s not OK, and it’s never gonna be. Not while I’m like this.” He gestures feebly at himself. “I can’t go back there as an Omega. I just can’t.”_

_“You can switch schools.” She reaches across the kitchen table, where he’s finally rational enough to eat his lunch, and squeezes._

_“Maybe, but I want suppressants, and anything else that’ll make me not... noticeable.” He clenches his jaw and looks at Pat with watery eyes. “I don’t want to be an Omega, Mom. I don’t wanna end up like... like him.” He hasn’t said his best friend’s name since the funeral, and Pat doesn’t push him on that._

_“I know you don’t, baby,” she sympathizes. She takes his empty plate and kisses his temple. “We’ll see the doctor, OK?”_

_Patrick nods gratefully and hugs his mom._

******

"So, I got on suppressants, got prescription soap to get rid of my scent, and transferred to Glenview High School. I told everyone I was a Beta, and everyone bought it. I never mentioned Benny again, or being an Omega, until now.” Patrick comes back from his reverie and meets Pete’s eyes. “That’s why I, like, flipped out on you when you brought him up.” He blinks a moment, then realizes something. “You never told me how you knew.” 

Pete blushes a bit. “You mentioned him a couple of times when you were first brought in, while you were really out of it. I thought your mom was gonna burst into tears on the spot. I asked her about it, and she said I should let you tell me. I took that to mean I should _ask_ you, but apparently that was not the best approach.” 

“I don’t remember any of that.” Patrick _actually scratches his head_ , the darling creature. 

“Well, you were as loopy as a crocheting convention, babe,” Pete quips. 

After a brief, stunned silence, Patrick just starts laughing. It was the kind where you wince at first, and then just can’t help but laugh, the kind of thing that basically says _what am I going to do with you_. “Come on, lie down,” he beckons, sliding under the covers.

Pete quirks an eyebrow as he positions himself against his Omega’s back for optimal snuggling. “Already telling me what to do, huh?”

“That a problem?” Patrick asks coolly, evenly.

Pete can’t immediately tell whether the question is playful or sincere, so he just opts for answering honestly. “No. I like the idea of having my cranky, bossy Omega look after me, too. God knows I need it.” There’s a minute or two where they just lie together, listening to the steady tone of the monitor. Pete can feel that Patrick keeps taking in a breath like he’s going to speak, but he stays quiet each time. “Something on your mind?”

Patrick sighs and curls in on himself, away from Pete a little. “Well, yeah. It’s just, like, can you not… like…” He trails off, takes another deep breath, and tries again. “Can you not be my Alpha?”

Pete feels his heart drop into his stomach. “What? Do you not… like, do you not want me anymore?” His voice trembles, and his eyes fill with the threat of big, heartbroken tears. “You don’t love me?”

“What?” Patrick sounds astonished. “Of course I love you, Pete. It’s not that. I’ve been passing as a Beta since I was fourteen. I literally have never really lived as an Omega. I have to get used to just being that before I can get used to being someone who has an Alpha, being _someone’s Omega_.” He can still feel Pete fully shaking against his back. “I just mean… can we be boyfriends first, without all the possessive Alpha-Omega stuff, just for a while? Please?” He squeezes Pete’s arms. “I just need some time with this.”

Behind him, Pete goes completely boneless with relief. “Oh my God, Patrick, you scared me half to death. I thought you were breaking up with me.” He curls himself more firmly around Patrick. “I thought you didn’t want me.” His voice was small and terrified.

Patrick pulls Pete’s leg over both of his own and just cradles the back of his knee in his hand. “I will always want you, Pete. I don’t know how to not want you.” He slides his hand up a little, to the back of Pete’s muscular, athletic thigh, peppered with coarse, wiry hairs. “But, like I said, I just need you to be my boyfriend for now, and let me figure the rest out. OK?”

Pete closes his eyes and nods, the motion burying his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck. “OK. I can do that, as long as we’ll still be together.”

“We will,” Patrick whispers, and kisses Pete’s knuckles. They both breathe a sigh, curl into each other, and drift off to sleep.


End file.
